Hermione Granger and the Marriage Law Revolution
by Starfox5
Summary: Hermione Granger deals with the Marriage Law the Wizengamot passed after Voldemort's defeat - in the style of the French Revolution. Old scores are settled but new enemies gather their forces, determinded to crush the new british ministry.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters in the Harry Potter books or movies.

* * *

**Hermione Granger and the Marriage Law Revolution**

"They legalized rape!" The Daily Prophet from two days ago was slapped on the table in the private room in the Three Broomsticks with enough force to scare most of the wizarding pictures out of their frames. Compared to the volume of the comment that opened the meeting of the survivors of the Defense Association it was nothing though - Hermione Granger was riled up to a point not many had ever seen her at.

"The Wizengamot just made rape not only legal, but enforced by aurors!" she continued, before pausing, probably to control herself. At her side Harry Potter, hero of the second Blood War and Vanquisher of Voldemort, put a hand on her shoulder in support.

Neville Longbottom, hero of Hogwarts, spoke up, though with more caution in his voice than one would expect from the man who stood up to Voldemort and beheaded Nagini with the Sword of Gryffindor. "Do you mean the Marriage Law the Wizengamot passed?"

"What else?" Hermione snarled. When Neville opened his mouth she cut him off. "Don't you dare to repeat their lies here. This law is not about saving the Wizarding World, it is about raping women!" She glared around the room. "They will force every girl here to have sex no matter her own wishes! That is rape no matter how you twist the words!"

Again Neville was about to open his mouth, and again he was cut off. "A marriage will not be accepted as legal and valid until and unless the bride and groom have had sex." She waved a piece of parchment around. "If someone's not married before they reach 19 the Wizengamot will pick a partner for them. And aurors will enforce the marriage if needed."

Hermione took a deep breath, and then continued at a lower volume, but with an even stronger passion. "And we all know how the Wizengamot works. How much do you think will it cost to get a girl? A few galleons for a muggleborn without friends in high places? How much to force the child of a rival into a marriage with an enemy? How much to force a muggleborn witch to become a broodmare in some pureblood household?" She looked at Ronald Weasley. "How much do you think Millicent Bulstrode will have to pay to rape a pureblood from a family with proven fertility like you?" Ron and a lot of the men present turned green at that.

She looked at Neville, who had his arms around Hannah Abbot. "And do you think being engaged will keep you safe? How much do you think will Malfoy pay to get you or Hannah arrested to prevent a wedding, until either of you is 19 and can be married off? The law states that you can't marry someone in jail - no matter if convicted or not."

Hermione raised her voice again. "And how long until not even marriage will keep you safe? How long until Nott decides he wants children from a pureblood woman who has proven to be fertile? If he can't murder her husband, why not simply change the law, and dissolve the marriage?"

Hermione started to pace. "Not even a year ago the ministry was happily murdering muggleborns and halfbloods - all in the name of the law! And now they have legalized rape! They will not stop with their crimes against us unless we stop them. Now.

"17 years ago Harry defeated Voldemort for the first time, ending the first war. And yet as we all know most of Voldemort's deatheaters were not punished, left alone by a corrupt ministry and Wizengamot, growing in power until they started the next war and almost murdered everyone of us until Harry defeated him again. And again, most of those who helped Voldemort murder muggles and muggleborns are not being punished, and are already trying to run the country again!"

She faced the room. "Do you want to be raped? Do you want to see Aurors drag your children off to be raped by some old Deatheater? Do you want to live under the power of such monsters as those who would pass such a law?"

A loud "No!" from everyone present answered her.

"Will you let them drag us away to be raped? Will you let them rape our children?"

"NO!"

* * *

For all their cunning and experience, the purebloods in the Wizengamot were just that - purebloods. Even their radicals were hide-bound conservatives by the standards of the real world, far too set in their ways to be able to understand, much less adapt to the advancements the 20th century had brought. Sure, they controlled the Daily Prophet, but they had no idea what real propaganda was. Muggleborns though did. And with most of the pureblood leaders of the "light side" either dead in the last war, or working for the same ministry and wizengamot that had passed the marriage law, they were, for the first time in history, able to use their knowledge to the full effect, and plan without being hindered by pureblood ideologies and traditions.

"Resist Rape!" flyers and posters were spread, anonymously at first, in Diagon Alley and Hogsmead, denouncing the Wizengamot members and anyone willing to follow their orders as rapists. Word spread among the muggleborn and halfblood survivors of the war. Their family and friends had been exterminated as if they were the vermin Voldemort's purebloods saw them as, and they were fed up and angry with the half-hearted attempts at justice other purebloods granted them. Wounds, barely healed, were ripped open as they realized what was happening - again. "Not again! Never again!" was whispered in their circles.

Many of the so-called "light side" expected Harry Potter to give an interview in the Quibbler, to stop this law. And the Saviour of Magical Britain could have done so, so great was his fame and influence. But as Hermione had explained to him, in her usual logical and pedantic ways, it would not have solved anything in the long run. The Wizengamot would simply try again, and again, until gold and bigotry had won over his fame. Hermione, brilliant, but utterly ruthless if she deemed it necessary, didn't want to just stop the law, but eradicate the whole ideology behind the law. She wanted to crush and destroy Magical Britain's bigotry - even if she had to wipe out the purebloods to accomplish that. And after hours of passionate discussions, Harry Potter would be helping her.

And so there was no interview by the boy-who-lived, no political pressure from the heroes of the war. Instead there were preparations in secret. Words were exchanged, spells taught, lessons learned. Flyers posted that called upon any ministry employee, any auror to abandon their posts, to refuse serving rapists and murderers. All while waiting for the right moment.

* * *

That moment came when two aurors apparated to a small, cozy house in the English countryside, where Mandy Smith had ignored a summon by the Wizengamot. Mandy Smith was not famous, had not taken part in the war, and had no powerful family to protect her. The two aurors didn't expect any trouble - Mandy Smith's file stated she was shy, obedient, and likely would have been married already to a man of her parent's choice if not for those parents dying in the war. If the two aurors had been as smart as the average normal cop they might have wondered why a pureblood orphan hadn't already been taken care of by her extended family, but then, they were pureblood wizards, not used to question anything.

So they were quite surprised when the door was opened by Hermione Granger. They might have started to understand that something more than the hero of the Second Blood War visiting Mandy Smith was going on had the seen the name on the doorbell change from Mandy Smith to Hermione Granger, but things started happening too fast for them to spot that.

"Can I help you?"

"Stupefy. Incarcerous."

Hermione had barely opened the door when she was hit by a whispered stunner chained into an incarcerous - cast from behind the aurors. They whirled around but saw no one, not even the telltales of a disillusionment charm or a cloak of invisibility. Confused, one cast a shield and kept an eye out for the mysterious attacker while the other bent down to check on Hermione Granger.

"Hermione! NO!"

Harry Potter stood there, in the house, wand ready. The cold expression on his face a marked and strange contrast with the anguished cry he had just uttered.

"Confringo!"

The last thing the auror kneeling at Hermione's side saw was a cutting curse that cut straight through him and his partner.

* * *

The news that aurors had attacked Hermione to drag her off to be married - raped - spread like wildfire. Wizarding pictures showing how she opened the door and was stunned and captured right away without any warning were on the next flyer to be distributed, as was a statement by Harry Potter, who had arrived just in time to save her. The message was clear - if the ministry and Wizengamot were willing to go after Hermione Granger, one of the heroes of the last war, best friend of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley (and possibly the fiancée of one of them), then no one was safe. All the fears of the muggleborn and half-bloods, carefully cultivated for weeks, all the resentment, anger and hatred of those discriminated against due to their birth, all the desire for revenge and justice for the crimes committed in the war, were galvanized into a battle cry: Death to the Rapists!

The ministry's claims that this was all a mistake, that no auror had gone after Hermione, were scoffed at while a mob gathered in Diagon Alley. The smarter aurors on site quickly fled, the smartest of them openly burning his robes and loudly stating that he would no longer follow the corrupt ministry. The dumber aurors tried to disperse the crowd, and were ripped apart.

Then the mob, led by some members of the Defense Association who had been in the alley for shopping - and passing out flyers - started for the ministry and Wizengamot. By the time they reached it, anti-apparition wards had gone up around it, the floo had been shut down, and what aurors were present were left in confusion and disarray, trying to find out who had caused that. They stood no chance against a mob led and reinforced by veteran wizards and witches of the Defense Association. Only the arrival of Harry Potter and Hermione Granger - though after a number of Wizengamot members and ministry employees had been lynched already - prevented a bloodbath.

Not that it helped the Wizengamot members much - it only delayed their fate. This was not a Glorious Revolution, this was a reenactment of the French Revolution. Those who voted for the marriage law were quickly interrogated with veritaserum to ferret out further crimes and then shoved through the Veil of Death. Then the Tribunals started. Any employee in the ministry was dosed with veritaserum, and interrogated about their role in the war. Everyone who supported Voldemort or his extermination of muggleborn was sent through the veil - and since Hermione Granger had prepared the questions, "support" was defined quite generously. Those not implicated were forced to swear a magical oath that prevented them from supporting any pureblood supremacy or hurting muggles or muggleborn unless in self-defense. As Hermione had prepared the wording, there were no loopholes in the oath that would allow anyone to "defend traditional lives" or such.

For all their success though they had alienated many of their pureblood friends with their actions during the Marriage Law Revolution, as it was later called. The Weasleys were the most prominent of those who shunned Hermione and Harry. While they never asked if the pair would have executed Arthur Weasley, had he still been working for the ministry by the time of the revolution, they never forget that Kingsley Shacklebolt, the minister of magic and member of the Order of the Phoenix, had been executed for supporting rape. Fortunately Percy Weasley had realized what was to come, and had all but forced Arthur to resign with him, nominally in protest of the marriage law, before things escalated - an act that made him popular with both his family and the new regime, and the young bureaucrat quickly rose through the ranks during the reformation.

Even without that uncertainty, that nagging question what would have happened to Arthur, hanging over them, the ruthless side both Hermione and Harry had revealed, the way they executed dozens of coworkers of Arthur "Who had just done their job" and the way they not only ignored, but actively erased traditions and customs that had been around for hundreds of years drove the pureblood family away. A family that shunned a relative for being a squib and an accountant could not cope with such changes. That the two in private also openly decried Dumbledore's ideology of sacrifice and forgiveness as useless and contributing to the mass-murder of muggleborn was the icing of the cake.

The Tribunals took days even though each individual interrogation was often very short, and when they ended most of the pureblood aristocracy was wiped out and most of the survivors hunted or under oath. Hermione Granger had no opposition when she started the Reformation of Magical Britain as Minister of Magic. Originally she had picked a quite different name and acronym for her project, but Harry, Chief Warlock first of the Wizengamot, then later of the common house of the magical parliament, didn't want a repetition of the S.P.E.W. disaster, and intervened. It would not remain the only "name intervention", to the amusement of their friends. Hermione was quite annoyed that she couldn't point to "Mandy Smith" as an example - the only one, sadly - of a perfectly normal name she had picked without Harry's help since any parchment that had mentioned that name had been destroyed - by her own spells, no less - during the incident that sparked the Marriage Law Revolution.


	2. Chapter 2: Meeting McGonagall

**Chapter 2: Meeting McGonagall**

Minerva McGonagall was walking towards the gates of Hogwarts with her usual stern expression on her face. Only the way she clenched her teeth repeatedly gave a hint to her emotions. Minutes before a patronus had arrived in her office and informed her that the new Minister of Magic and the new Chief Warlock would be arriving at Hogwarts now. Even passed through an animal like the usually playful otter the message had sounded ominous - or that could just be her take on it given recent events. To think that minister Shacklebolt - Kingsley, a good friend, a comrade in the fight against Voldemort - had been killed on the orders of those two… she grew even more tense, and straightened her back. Even if they came to kill her too, she'd face them without showing fear.

The two former students of hers - both had not returned for their 7th year, without more than vague explanations of needing some time off - were standing at the gate, with two others - Dean Thomas and a man she didn't recognize. All were dressed in muggle fashion, suits she thought they were called, no one wore robes, and Miss Granger's skirt did barely reach her knees! Scandalous! Minerva couldn't help but frown a bit at the sight, and even more at the cold smirk she received in return. What had happened to the studious, obedient girl she thought she knew? She pushed the thoughts back and rallied with the help of ingrained politeness. "Welcome to Hogwarts, Minister, Chief Warlock."

Hermione Granger and Harry Potter nodded politely in return, smiling slightly. Hermione spoke. "Good Morning, Headmistress. You know Dean Thomas, and this is Robert Smith." No explanation as to who he was. "I am glad you got our message. We have a lot to talk about." An understatement, if any.

Minerva stiffly nodded in return. "If you'd follow me to my office…" she was about to turn when she was stopped.

"No." Hermione interrupted her. "Unless your office has had all the portraits removed we will not talk there." She smiled, though it looked like she was baring her teeth. "I dislikes spies. An empty classroom will do." And would deprive McGonagall of the psychological advantage the office provided when meeting former students. Even though in their case it would only fill them with rage and anger, it would distract them from the point of the visit - the first point, that is. The second would see them in the headmistress' office.

Minerva led them to an empty classroom, one of those not used anymore. There were lots of those in Hogwarts, even those damaged or destroyed in the battle had been repaired and restored just like before. No wizard had even thought to remove them, or to replace them with something more useful. All they had thought of was to restore Hogwarts as it had been.

On the way they were spotted by a few students. Some of them ran away, screaming even, others gaped, stared, but did not dare to approach - the stern headmistress glared at a muggleborn fourth year who looked like she wanted to talk to them and sent her running away. The whole school would know of the visit in no time, of course.

A few - a lot - of privacy and detection spells and a three conjured seats later McGonagall found herself alone with Hermione Granger and Harry Potter. The polite smile had been replaced by a cold expression on Harry's face. Hermione's smile had stayed, but her eyes had grown cold. "I assume you wonder about the reason for our sudden visit."

Minerva kept her stern face on "I assume it's not to arrest me, or you'd not have come personally." At least she hoped so.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Why would we arrest you? You haven't been helping rapists, have you?" She continued while the other woman sputtered an outraged denial at the accusation. "Though that's a topic for later. We're here to inform you about the changes for Hogwarts."

"Changes? Hogwarts is independent, the ministry has no say here!" Minerva stood up and had some trouble getting a hold on her anger. She was ready to defend her school, consequences be damned, when Mister Potter took the wind out of her sails.

He raised his hand - the one with the scars done by Umbridge's bloodquill - and showed it to her. "Remember this? Remember telling me to keep my head down? And now you claim the ministry has no say here?" He scoffed at her while she paled and sat back down again,.

Hermione continued. "Even if you had not submitted to the authority of the ministry back then, the history of Hogwarts in the last few years clearly shows that the school cannot be left to govern itself. Laws to that effect will be passed soon enough."

Minerva gaped. What was Miss Granger stating? "Hogwarts is the finest Magical School…" again she was interrupted.

"That may be the case - I hope not, since it would mean the magical world is even more stupid than I thought - but it certainly is not a fine school by any objective standard." She glared at McGonagall, passion anyone who had seen her rant about studying or injustice when she was younger would recognize at once seeping into her voice. "Hogwarts is an embarrassment. With a few exceptions the teachers are inept, the course is far too limited, and the material often outdated or plain wrong. The infrastructure is primitive, and the school grounds are not safe. If this was a normal school, it would have been closed long ago, half the staff would have been fired and the rest would have been arrested."

Minerva was left gaping - she hadn't expected this. Where was this coming from? Miss Granger had been so happy during her time at Hogwarts! For a moment she had even forgotten the Tribunals, only the last sentence, when the minister mentioned staff being arrested, brought that threat back.

And Hermione Granger was just picking up steam. "Hogwarts will be brought up to the standards of the 20th century. No longer shall normal children feel like they are thrown back into the dark ages when entering the school! Quills and parchment? I guess we should be glad you don't carve up stone plates still! In the future, students will be allowed to use pens and paper and even typewriters to write their assignments. We'll also update the school uniforms."

"But tradition…" Minerva tried to interrupt, but only triggered another scathing remark.

"Tradition is no reason to keep something outdated if better alternatives are around. Pens are better than quills, period. There is no reason at all to use quills, magic doesn't care how ink is used. Making students use quills means wasting time and effort during their education. That will no longer be tolerated." Her eyes were blazing. "And you will install a public announcement system. Wizarding Wireless works at Hogwarts, so you cannot claim it's impossible. The next time a troll is roaming the school all inside will be warned at once! Especially the house elves, who can then locate any missing students!" She hadn't forgotten her near-death experience all due to an inept staff.

"Speaking of security the Forbidden Forest will be made safe. I am sure both the centaurs and the unicorns would like to be safe from acromantulas and other threats too. You will update the castle's infrastructure. The times of prefects having a luxury bath and the rest having to make do with old, dingy showers are over. Furthermore, the moving stairs will be controlled. How anyone could think randomly moving stairs are acceptable is beyond me!"

"But they are controlled by Hogwarts itself! You cannot change the school like this." Minerva exclaimed. How could anyone consider going against the magic of Hogwarts?

Hermione scoffed. "Rubbish! Hogwarts is a castle and a school, not some god whose whims we have to follow. If we really cannot control it then we'll replace it."

"That's the gist about the infrastructure. More important though is the curriculum and the staff. As it is Hogwarts offers far too few subjects, and produces students that are ignorant and arrogant at the same time, unable to live in the real world, and only able to live in the magical world due to corruption and nepotism. It's pathetic that grown men and women have no idea how normal people dress, and still expect to be able to maintain the statute of secrecy. Their ignorance threatens the entire magical world!" Not that she gave a damn about the magical world anymore, but it felt good to point it out to the bigot in front of her.

Minerva was gaping, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

"Muggle studies will be reduced to a mandatory course for all first years. And renamed of course - we'll not be using such derogatory names anymore. History will replace magic history, and cover both the magical and mundane history."

"But Binns…"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Binns will be fired of course. As will a number of teachers that do not measure up. The usual basic subjects like sciences will be added, as well as some electives. Generally, the school will assure that any student will have their GCSE by the time they graduate, with A-Levels for those who choose so and can handle it in addition to their magic studies." Hermione rolled her eyes at the look of incomprehension on McGonagall's face. "Consider them Muggle O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s."

"But who will teach them? There are not many wizards with a mastery in muggle studies." Minerva stated. She didn't know any, actually - or if there even was a mastery available for such.

Hermione sighed. The old woman was even more stupid than she thought. "You'll hire normal teachers of course, if there are not enough muggleborn wizards and witches with the needed qualifications." Which would include the ability to teach, not just a mastery of the subject to be taught.

"But the wards…"

"If the wards do not allow individual non-magical teachers to pass through, then you'll open classrooms outside the wards, and the students floo there and back. You'll have to open an office in London anyway, where normal parents can visit the teachers of their children. And where you can be reached by phone and fax and e-mail." Hermione had to suppress a smirk. And it would make the staff get used to electronics and their convenience, further eroding any lingering feeling of superiority. No longer could they lock out normal parents!

"Do you remember what my favorite book was as a student? Or was a mudblood so beneath your notice that you didn't care at all?" Again she cut off McGonagall's sputtering denials. "No matter, it was 'Hogwarts: A History'. And so I know how many magical courses were dropped over time, how the curriculum was dumbed down. That stops now. Dumbledore's policy of restricting knowledge to a select few and dropping any subject that he disapproved of will not be followed any longer. The details are in my reform plan." Hermione pulled a thick folder out of her briefcase. She had started writing it in her first year, in fact, and kept adding to it during all her time at school. She had soon realized it would not see any use, ever, unless she somehow became the ruler of Magical Britain, but had kept at it, out of sheer stubbornness when faced with injustice and ineptitude. And who would have thought - now she and Harry did rule Magical Britain! She handed the folder over to McGonagall.

"The governors will never agree to that!" Minerva was sure of that. Even the light wizards would not destroy Hogwarts traditions like that!

Hermione's smile showed cruelty and disdain worthy of Snape at his worst. "The board is no longer any concern. Its members are either dead or fled Britain." Voldemort's cronies, or Dumbledore's sheep, good riddance to either. She leaned forward "It's a new magical world, Headmistress, and the old guard is gone."

"We're not finished yet." Hermione said when McGonagall was about to stand up. "We haven't even touched one of the most important subjects yet." The old woman sat down with a look of confusion on her face.

"Discipline." Hermione explained. "The days of Hogwarts breeding death eaters will not continue. The days when the headmaster protected criminals from justice will never come back either. Hogwarts will no longer tolerate bigotry and bullying." She waved McGonagall's delusional protests that Hogwarts never had done so away. "Stop your lies." Hermione glared at McGonagall. "You protected, coddled and trained bigots, teaching them that they were better than mudbloods and blood traitors, that they could do anything they wanted without consequences. And they grew up, and went on to mass murder normal people, as they had been taught to. If I wasn't sure you did that only because you are too bloody stupid to think for yourself, blindly followed Dumbledore's delusional orders and were too much of a coward to stand up against Umbridge and Snape, you'd be pushed through the veil for that."

The little girl had gone too far now. Minerva stood up, the folder falling to the floor. "How dare you!" she bellowed, filled with anger and frustration, and indignation. "I fought against Grindelwald's forces, I fought against the death eaters in the 70s, I was in the Order of the Phoenix before you were even born! How dare you call me a coward!"

Hermione stood up herself, facing the old woman. "I was a student for 6 years, remember? I was called "mudblood" almost daily by Malfoy and his ilk, and no teacher intervened, ever. He could even threaten me in front of staff when Mrs. Norris was found petrified, and no one did anything. Remember that?"

Harry raised his scarred hand again. "Keep your head down, McGonagall." he sneered at her. He had his wand in hand though, and the woman realized that if she did as much as point her wand at Hermione she'd die right there.

Hermione stared her old teacher down. "Yes, I am calling you a coward, or an idiot. Too stupid or spineless to stand up against Dumbledore and Snape or Umbridge, you let them torture and break children. You never did anything against Snape, didn't counter his unfair punishments, and let all the bullying the bigots did happen. You did nothing when the students banded together against Harry in our second year, you didn't do anything when Malfoy spread those hateful buttons in our fourth year, you did not do anything against Umbridge when she was torturing Harry, you let her ruin the education of an entire school, you didn't do anything when Harry was sent back to an abusive home every year, and you left fighting against Voldemort to a few children. Sit down and shut up!"

Reeling, and caught between indignation and growing shame, Minerva did that,

"Hogwarts' way to discipline students will change. First, any crimes will be handled by the DMLE. No exceptions. There are no "internal matters" anymore, swept under the carpet to protect a criminal while Pomfrey patches up the victims. Whenever a student gets hurt the DMLE will be called in. Further, we are witches and wizards, not mundanes. You'll use magical means to determine the guilty party in disciplinary matters. We have veritaserum, we have spells, enchanted objects and we can swear magical oaths. The days when a victim had no recourse because "witnesses" covered for the culprit are gone. That goes for teachers too - everyone has to follow the law and guidelines.

"With regards to punishments, house points will disappear. They only divide the school, and promote bullying. The days where you could subtract 50 points for something another teacher subtracted 5 Points for, and then had the student's house turn on them to punish them further are gone. Any punishment will only affect the guilty students, not anyone else. Needless to say that any punishment will not endanger students, and will be appropriate to the offense committed." Hermione leaned forward again and whispered. "Should you ever send out students into the Forbidden Forest or a similar danger again as punishment, I'll personally shove you through the veil, McGonagall.

"There will be a code of conduct for any staff - taken from normal schools. Anyone who cannot follow it will be fired. Teachers will be expected to keep up with their subject, not repeat outdated lessons for decades." Hermione smiled again - now came a subject dear to her heart. "The last staff changes concern the house elves." Harry smiled as well.

"You might have missed it, but there were changes to house elf ownership." Again she cut off the old woman's words. "I know - they die if not bonded. However, that does not mean they need to be kept in slavery. The new law makes ownership of a house elf illegal unless the house elf is willing, and any owner has to swear an unbreakable oath to not abuse them and to let them pick another owner anytime they choose to. And to inform them of that right regularly." Hermione grinned - she was pretty proud of that law, it de facto freed the house elves without legally setting them free. She wasn't sure how many elves realized what the new law did, but as long as everyone was happy… ignorance was bliss in the case of the house elves.

"As the headmistress you'll be swearing that oath too, as will the deputy headmaster. Of course you'll swear another unbreakable oath too, as will any teacher tainted by Dumbledore's policies: You'll swear to treat all students fairly and equally, without regards to political machinations or family. The welfare of a student comes before the greater good." Then she twisted the knife. "Of course, that oath shouldn't really affect a decent teacher, right?"

Minerva could only weakly nod. She was trembling worse than a first year taken apart by Snape, all her faults, weaknesses and mistakes - she didn't think of them as crimes yet - thrown into her face.

Hermione nodded, satisfied. She had waited 7 years for that! "As I said, we'll pass the laws soon, you just got a heads up so you can start looking for competent teachers and begin the needed changes. I'd advise you to talk to the heads of mundane schools to learn from their experiences, but I doubt you could do so without some coaching how to act in the real world, so that will have to wait." Privately, she had a bet going with Harry how long the fossil would last when forced to run a real school.

"Now that we have talked to you, there's another person we need to talk to." She glanced at Harry, whose face now showed grim anticipation. "Or rather, a portrait of a former headmaster."

Minerva paled.


	3. Chapter 3: Dumbledore's Portrait

**Chapter 3: Dumbledore's Portrait**

The three left the empty classroom, all feeling a bit of a tingle as they walked through the door - a lot of spells and wards had been cast to protect their privacy. Outside Dean and Robert Smith were waiting. McGonagall didn't notice anything, as shaken as she was, but Harry and Hermione did. "Some students have been hanging around nearby." The flat tone of his statement implied that he had already been planning to do something about them. McGonagall didn't miss that, and gasped "They are kids! This is a school!"

The four visitors met her outraged face with blank stares. "I've killed my first man when I was eleven." Harry spoke casually. He didn't show it, but he was enjoying the way the old teacher jerked at that. A small reminder of how she had been party to ruining his childhood, and she deflated. Or perhaps it was the reminder of how dangerous he was, and how much experience he had fighting. Once he would have cared about the fear he might have caused, but after the war? If fear was what kept the purebloods from harming normal people, then fear he would cause.

Hermione had been looking around, wand ready. "Let's go to the office. We don't have all day - there's a country to run, after all." The small group continued on, through one of Hogwarts' moving stairs. Near the Gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the headmistress' office a corpulent wizard was waiting for them, a wide smile on his face. Horace Slughorn, potions teacher and head of House Slytherin. The born networker.

"Horace, this is not the time to…" Minerva was about to send him his way, but it was not her day - he cut her off, ignored her practically, by speaking to Harry and Hermione. As was his wont, he laid it on thick. "Madam Minister, Chief Warlock - there's been a situation in the Slytherin dorms."

Both tensed up, and their two bodyguards had their wands out. Smith even had a muggle device out, a fireleg, if Minerva remembered her muggle studies correctly. It had to be an older model though, she knew the modern ones were smaller, this was bulky, with a long grip, probably meant to be held with both hands, though he held it with one. She was about to protest and tell Horace that internal matters were just that, internal, but the sight of four people ready to kill shut her up.

"Please elaborate, professor Slughorn." Hermione ordered. The teacher was happy to do. "I've confined the house to the dorms when I noticed some of the older students were talking about taking revenge for the death of some criminal family members after news of your arrival made the rounds. I fear this is a matter for the DMLE." He sounded honestly sad about the fact that he had just called the same men who had dragged the majority of the ministry purebloods to the veil to Hogwarts. Or given them the excuse to do so.

Hermione nodded and took out a small mirror. "Ministry Office. Granger speaking." She was answered by a female voice, too low to be understood by Horace or McGonagall. "Send officers to Hogwarts. We have a possible conspiracy here. Standard veritaserum protocols." The female voice answered with an affirmative sound, and Hermione stashed the mirror again.

She smiled at Slughorn. "Thank you, professor. You possible saved a lot of lives with your quick thinking." Horace answered with a smile that was as sincere - for all that was worth - as hers. "I was just doing my duty, Minister. I won't hold you up any longer."

Minerva wanted to tear the hide off the corpulent wizard, but she couldn't leave the four visitors standing there, they'd probably kill the next student running by! She shot the potioneer's back a glare that promised dire consequences and had the gargoyle open the stairs to her office.

The office hadn't changed that much since the last time the two had been in there. Less of Dumbledore's knickknacks, a bit more austere, no lemon drops of course, but all in all it had not changed. Like Hogwarts. Not that Harry cared much, his attention was fixed on Dumbledore's portrait. Hermione placed a hand on his shoulders, felt how tense he was, squeezed, comforting him. Harry took a deep breath, and stepped forward, to face his old mentor and tormentor.

"Hello Headmaster." His voice was flat, but his eyes betrayed the emotional turmoil he was going through. Hermione stepped up and placed her hand on the small of his back. The contact helped. "Headmaster." Her own greeting was precise, clipped, and devoid of any warmth. Their two guards and McGonagall had stayed back. This was between those two and the painting.

"Harry my boy. Miss Granger." The portrait had the old man's casually-condescending voice down pat. Before it could launch into whatever speech it had prepared, it was interrupted. "That's Chief Warlock and Madam Minister to you."

"Harry, there's no need to be formal." The portrait had the same tendency to ignore whatever didn't fit its world as the real Dumbledore had suffered from.

"On the contrary, there's a dire need to be formal, to keep this talk civilized." Not that he expected the portrait to understand and heed his words, Dumbledore had always treated him like a child. And yes, there it went again.

"Harry, I fear this new position, this power, has gotten to you. You are far too young to…"

"Shut up." And there went Harry's temper. "For one time, shut your fucking mouth and stop talking out of your ass." Hermione pulled herself closer to him, pressing her side into his, calming him down. He took a deep breath while the portrait gaped.

"You ruined my life. You ruined countless lives. If not for you, so many of my friends would still be alive… and you still try to talk as if you knew best. Pathetic."

That seemed to get through to the portrait. It glared back. "Harry, I did my best to save lives. To protect people. To protect children. And what do I hear? You killed so many in cold blood, entire families gone… if only I had been there to prevent that." It actually sounded like it cared - but then, they were talking about purebloods. Hermione had been right, of course - the headmaster was a bigot too. Had been, this was just his portrait left.

"I did what I had to, and will continue to do what I have to, to protect people. Unlike you, I'll not sacrifice the innocent to save the guilty. I'll not make your mistakes - if they were mistakes to start with anyway, and not planned."

"Harry, I did my best to make sure you were safe, and had as happy a childhood as was possible. Sadly, due to the threat from Voldemort, the results may have left something to be desired…" Again the patronizing tone, dead on.

"If that was your best, then I fear what your worst would have been. Oh, wait - I know what your worst was. Hundreds of innocents dead, murdered by people you protected and enabled. Scum you saved so they could kill again and again."

"Harry, the death of anyone is a tragedy, that's why killing is so wrong. That's why you need to turn back from the path you have taken..." Harry bared his teeth in what could be called a cynical smile if one was half-blind and squinted. The portrait was as fixated on him as the old goat had been, and was ignoring Hermione. Of course, she was just a mudblood, of no consequence to the great Dumbledore.

"Do you know the saying 'Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me'?" Harry asked. "The death eaters and their supporters fooled you after the death of my parents, and as a result, muggleborns and normal people were mass murdered a generation later. Our children will not face the same menace." The young man stated while he took Hermione's hand, squeezing it once. She smiled at him warmly, and blinked to clear her eyes.

The portrait was shocked. "Harry! You are speaking of murder! That will split your soul!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Executing criminals is not murder, headmaster. If it was, why didn't you ever change the laws and forbid the death penalty?" It opened its mouth to answer, but the woman was not letting it speak in its defense. "You were the king of the wizarding world after your defeat of Gellert Grindelwald. You spared him, you could have easily abolished the death penalty if you had used your influence then. And yet you only saved him, not future criminals. You let the DMLE torture prisoners, drive them insane with dementors. It was under your rule that Voldemort rose. It was under your rule that Fudge came to power. You refused to become minister, you let Malfoy worm his way into the ministry with bribes and threats. You did nothing to stop Voldemort's killers. The death of all their victims is on your head."

The portrait was looking angry now - an expression rarely seen on Dumbledore, he had usually hidden behind a mask of patronizing disappointment.

"That's a lie! I did what I could to stop the darkness falling over Britain. Me and my friends sacrificed our lives to battle the dark!"

"You sacrificed countless normal people and muggleborns. You and your friends died because of your own stupidity." Hermione was winding up. "If you had not poisoned the minds of so many we could have won the war. There wouldn't have been a war if you hadn't been such a bigot."

That riled the portrait up even more - but then, a mudblood daring to talk back to the great Dumbledore was not something he was used to. "You have no idea what you are talking about. You don't understand how the Wizarding World works."

Before he could add some patronizing comment about that being typical for mudbloods, the minister of magic cut his drivel off. "I know how the world works, better than you. For all your lies and bigotry, wizards are just like normal people - only dumber in the case of purebloods. You could have stomped out bigotry against normal people after the war with Grindelwald. Even after Harry defeated Voldemort as a baby you could have destroyed that bigotry. Here he was, the boy-who-lived: The son of a muggleborn and a pureblood! You could have used his example and fame to battle the bigotry and unite the magicals. Did you do anything to destroy Voldemorts ideology of hatred towards normal people and muggleborn? No. Just as you did not press for every death eater to be interrogated with veritaserum either. You were all too happy to let them lick their wounds, gather their power, and spread their poison again."

She didn't let him answer the accusations, too far into her rant. "Yet when it concerned you you were quick to use your power. When Malfoy ousted you in our second year you took not even a day to reverse the decision and have him removed from the board. And yet you did nothing against him, nothing to punish him for trying to murder children, nothing to make sure he could not do it again! And to make matters worse, you didn't use your power to get us good teachers, but abused your power to protect bad teachers! Snape was allowed to abuse and belittle children for years, showing his bigoted snakes that yes, they were worth more than others, and yes, they could do what they wanted without consequences! He ruined the dreams of so many non-slytherins who wanted to become healers and aurors, yet could not stomach N.E.W.T. potions - or were prevented from taking the course by his unfair grading. That alone made sure the majority of the new aurors were slytherins, who had spent seven years learning how to be bigots - perfect recruits and traitors for Voldemort!"

"And who are all dead now, executed for their crimes." Harry threw in. "So, all your scheming and Snape's abuse only resulted in more dead wizards."

Hermione nodded at him, a grim smile of satisfaction mixed with sadness on her face while the portrait exploded "You speak of murder as if it was a good thing! Don't you have any remorse for killing so many wizards? Ending so many families…"

"Remorse? I regret we did not kill them all before they could murder so many innocents." Harry spoke with conviction.

"But we need every wizard, there are so few of us. Who will keep our traditions, our history alive when all the old families are gone?"

Hermione scoffed at the portrait. "If we needed every wizard, why did you let them drive away and kill all new magicals? Why should we respect a society who does not grant normal people like my parents any rights? Do you remember the muggle protection act? A better example of the contempt and bigotry towards normal people that was ingrained in Wizarding Britain I cannot think of. We're close to the end of the 20th century, and yet you bigots were struggling over whether you should grant some minimal protection to normal people. We were just beasts to you and your ilk, or pets to laugh at and be amused by. You disgust me, and I am glad we can destroy your whole bigoted ideology!"

This time it was Harry who hugged Hermione to calm her down. Behind them McGonagall was silent, trembling, but not daring to intercede, not when even the great Dumbledore's words failed to impress the two young people.

Harry took over again when the portrait had gone through a number of meaningless lies about how of course it cared about muggles.

"You are such a hypocrite, I am ashamed I fell for your lies for so long. You talk about how killing is wrong, and yet you worked so hard, sacrificed so many innocents, to destroy Voldemort's horcruxes just so he could be killed! Why didn't you want to imprison him, so he could change and abandon his evil ways? Why didn't you want to give him a second, third and fourth chance? Why was killing Voldemort good, but killing his murdering followers was evil?

The portrait was gaping, stammering about the prophecy, but it was clear it couldn't really answer that.

"The prophecy said I'd vanquish him - which I could have done as a baby - it didn't mean I had to kill him. We could have petrified him, so he was not alive, yet not dead."

He wasn't finished yet. Years of abuse, of pain, of loss, had driven him to this point. "You are not just a hypocrite, you're also a fool. Remember the prophecy? You had your order of idiots guard it, even though that was completely useless. Only me and Voldemort could touch it. I didn't know about it until it was too late, and none of your order could have stopped Voldemort. You got one man sent to Azkaban - no help from you, of course, just as you let Sirius rot - and Mr. Weasely almost died, all for nothing. And meanwhile, death eaters were recruiting, and starting to murder people. Death eaters you knew the names of since I saw them at Voldemort's resurrection ritual when he called out their names. And yet your order had to guard an untouchable prophecy and would not lift a finger to fight the death eaters until it was too late and they had grown too strong!"

Hermione sneered. "The order of fools - and sadists. They let the Dursleys abuse Harry, watching under invisibility cloaks without lifting a finger to help him." She sent a scathing glare back to McGonagall. "Just like you let the school abuse Harry in our second and fourth year, despite knowing he was innocent."

The young passionate woman turned back to the portrait. "You let Snape abuse him here, you always favored his enemies among the students, protected them from punishment while you punished him and us. You used him as bait during the tournament, yet you were too senile to spot that a death eater had impersonated one of your oldest friends! And I was a fool to believe in you. I followed your order to not contact Harry, despite knowing how wrong it was to leave him alone in his grief! You're a manipulating monster!"

Harry hugged her close to him again. She'd not cry, not anymore, but the wounds were not healed. She hated making mistakes, especially such serious ones. He narrowed his eyes.

The portrait had used the time spent consoling Hermione to recover. "Was that why you killed Kingsley? Because he had not helped you when you had to do the garden?" Its voice dripped with fake understanding that couldn't hide the venom of its words.

Harry snorted. "Are you stupid? Well, yes, you are. Kingsley was executed because he had ordered his aurors to help rape people, just as most of the Wizengamot members were executed for passing the law that made rape legal and mandatory."

"Harry! A marriage law is not rape, it's a measure to save our country, our world! We lost so many in the war, so many were killed..."

Hermione growled. "If a society can only be saved through rape, then it deserves to be destroyed! But that's just like you - you'll sacrifice anyone and everyone to save the corrupt purebloods!"

She took deep breaths to calm herself down. Harry took over again. "You are responsible for so many wrongs and crimes. Even after you death, when we started to see your lies and mistakes and criminal acts, we couldn't do much since so many were following your orders still, brainwashed by your poison even while mass murders were committed daily by monsters in human form. If we had denounced you then we'd have split the forces against Voldemort and lost the war. But oh, how we wanted to. There were times in the forest, working to find the horcruxes, when we lamented your death just because it robbed us of the chance to kill you." He smiled cruelly. "But we found something better. A way to punish you for your crimes even after your death."

"Harry, you must let go of your hatred, it will corrupt you.."

"We will destroy your legacy and reputation. Your wizarding world is already doomed. We've broken the power of the purebloods, there are not enough of them left to keep a stranglehold on the economy and government in Wizarding Britain. There are not enough of them left to keep their sick culture and traditions alive - heh, there are so few left, most old families are already extinct. In just a few years, You'd not recognize Wizarding Britain anymore - it'll be shaped by new magicals and normal people. That's your legacy. And your reputation?" He looked at Hermione with a fond smile. The girls smiled back, and hugged him.

"I am already writing a book about the two wars with Voldemort. Among other facts it'll list all your crimes, mistakes, and misdeeds. You will be remembered as the man who let thousands of innocents be abused, oppressed and murdered just so he could save the worst murdering scum possible. Your name will be cursed for generations!"

The portrait was pale now, trembling, stuttering words that made no sense. McGonagall was in a similar state. Harry took a deep breath, feeling a weight lift from his chest. It was just a portrait, but it had felt good to get this out. He glanced over to Hermione, who smiled back, feeling similarly relieved.

"We'll let ourselves out, Headmistress. The DMLE will have arrived by now, please make sure no student makes trouble during the interrogations."

The two smirking young people had reached the gargoyle when they heard "Wait! What do you mean?" from above.


	4. Chapter 4: Draco's Plan

**Chapter 4 : Draco's Plan**

McGonagall raced down the stairs of her office. She was almost panting when she reached the four young people. "What do you mean?"

Hermione turned around. "Did you already forget what we talked about a bit ago? Any crimes at Hogwarts will be handled by the DMLE. No exceptions. Professor Slughorn told us there was a conspiracy here, so of course the DMLE is investigating." She kept her face impassive, though it was hard not to smirk.

Minerva shook her head. "No… I meant … what do you meant, about the students not making trouble during the interrogations?" They couldn't be planning … they were just children…

"I think the DMLE officers in charge of this investigation will be conducting the first interrogations here, in order to avoid arresting innocents for further questioning." Hermione answered. Of course she knew they'd be doing that - things had been planned in advance for a while, after all. Slughorn's revelation just meant they had more justification for their chosen course of action.

Harry checked his watch. "Unless I am mistaken the DMLE has already started to secure the dorm in question." The headmistress gaped at him. "What? How? Why wasn't I informed?"

Both Harry and Hermione smirked at that. "According to the DMLE's standard procedure, outsiders are not informed of their raids so that suspects cannot be warned in advance. Surely you did not think we'd let you warn the conspirators here by announcing it." Hermione explained. Their two bodyguards were keeping an eye on their surroundings as they walked towards the great hall. It wasn't as if the only pureblood supremacists were Slytherins, after all.

The five reached the Great Hall, where a group of hard-faced men and women was waiting for them. Minerva blinked - they were not wearing the red robes of aurors, as she had expected. Most were clad in black clothes of muggle origin, with some sort of harness over cloth vests. And lots of pouches. And those muggle firelegs were present among a few. The one not in such strange clothes was wearing the same suit - or close to - as Harry was, and greeted them.

"Madam Minister, Chief Warlock. We've secured the Slytherin dorm, and have disarmed the suspects inside. We we had to use force to subdue a few, and one of my men was wounded by a dark curse when one suspect managed to cast a bubblehead charm before the tear gas took effect. The suspect, one Theodore Nott, was killed."

McGonagall gasped in dismay, Harry and Hermione just nodded. One less death eater. "Good work, Keagan." Hermione smiled at the man.

Minerva suddenly recognized the man. Keagan Parker, a muggleborn student of hers. He finished in '84. Last she had heard he had been working as a Janitor at a shop in Diagon Alley. She remembered feeling disappointed that a student with such promising grades - he would have been a prefect too if not for multiple violent interactions with other students, mostly Slytherins now that she recalled it, the headmaster had called it "an unfortunate tendency to react with violence instead of forgiveness to childish taunts" - ending up there. Hadn't his parents been killed too, in the war? Her trip down memory lane was interrupted. "Pardon?"

"Please call the students to the Great Hall so we can disarm them. We want to avoid further incidents and proceed with the investigation." Parker's expression looked more like a shark baring its teeth than a smile.

Minerva sputtered with outrage and beginning panic - take the wands away from her students? They hadn't done a thing! - but she had no choice but to give in. There were too many of those "officers" around, and no auror in sight. Soon just about all students of the other three houses were disarmed and in the Great Hall, under guard. Most were nervous, a few though - muggleborns all of them - were grinning wildly. She had had to bite her tongue not to lash out at one who loudly asked his friend if they'd be able to watch the "death eater executions". Minerva was at the staff table, without her wand as well, as were the rest of the professors - other than Binns, who was still lecturing an empty classroom. Horace, the toady, had handed his wand over as if it were not a deadly insult to be asked to, this was Hogwarts, not the ministry! She glared at the fat potions teacher at the staff table, calmly sitting in his usual seat, and stalked over to him.

"Horace! What were you thinking, calling the inquisition down on children!" That was what purebloods had taken to call the new DMLE, claiming it was a new witch hunt. Minerva used it for the first time today, after seeing those "officers" in black muggle clothes standing guard over her cubs. Horace just smiled at her. "I was thinking of the children, of course. To save their future." Minerva gaped - she did that a lot this day, she realized. "Explain!"

The professor's smile widened, and his tone grew smug. "You know Slytherin's reputation as the prime recruiting ground for the Dark Lord's forces. It's not exactly true that everyone joined him, but too many wizards and witches see every Slytherin as a future murderer and rapist. They'll be ostracized and blacklisted. Like muggleborns were in the past." He added, while his smile turned nasty as he remembered how much trouble he had had, despite his excellent network of contacts and his own reputation, to find an apprenticeship for Lily Potter, the most talented witch of her generation. "With everyone being interrogated with veritaserum though, and their innocence proven, that taint will be removed." From the innocents, of course, and not completely. Some prejudice would remain, but that was the way the wind was blowing - and would be blowing for the future, given how many purebloods, or rather, how few, were left. Though for the true Slytherins, it would not matter. They'd network, make contacts, and fit into the new order. With his help, of course. For those clinging to the past… they'd have no future. Literally none, for many - he knew too well what kind of vipers populated his house, and what they had done.

"But… the use of veritaserum on a student is forbidden!" Minerva protested.

"Not anymore. The new minister was not pleased to find out that the only reason it was forbidden was not because it was a risk to a student's health, but the wish of purebloods to protect their criminal children while they were at school." Horace smiled "I think it'll help a lot to be able to easily find out the truth of any incident between students. But that aside, as you can see, I am acting in the interests of my students. Of the innocent students." His smile stayed while his eyes grew hard. "Sadly, I fear, a few of my snakes have crossed lines that shouldn't have been crossed, but their removal will mean the school itself will be a much safer place for everyone else." And of course it would cement his place on the side of the new regime. A skilled networker, Horace had acted quickly once he realized who was winning, to make sure his past… mistakes… would be outweighed with current collaboration. Fortunately he had just made mistakes, and had not done enough, but not committed any crimes. Minerva stared at him, lips moving without a sound, then they pressed together until they formed a thin line, and with glaring eyes she turned away. He wondered if she'd realize the truth of his words, and what they meant for the rest of the houses. While they had harbored much fewer followers of Voldemort, no house and few teachers had been as friendly towards muggleborns and muggles as they claimed, and the new Minister and Chief Warlock were only too well aware of that. If dear Minerva didn't adapt enough… well, he was willing to shoulder more responsibility, should he be called. Horace had a house elf refill his glass and smiled.

At that time Harry and Hermione returned to the Great Hall - McGonagall had not noticed they had left during the rather loud "disarming" of the students - trailed by their two guards and Parker. Following them were the floating bodies of the stunned students of House Slytherin, followed by a few Slytherins who had surrendered right away. Gasps and cries as well as laughter from dozens of students filled the hall, and excited whispers rose in volume. Hermione stepped into the center of the hall and cast a sonorous on herself.

"Students, Staff." She started while the noise quieted down. "As you have noticed the DMLE has taken control of the castle following reports of a conspiracy against the government. The officers are currently investigating…" she waited while students who were not ignorant of the normal world explained to pureblood students that "officers" were muggle aurors. Even as a minister of magic she hated to leave others ignorant. She coughed and silenced the starting discussion "... though we've already found evidence of multiple crimes." They had that evidence even before they came here, and it didn't cover the conspiracy Slughorn had revealed, but no need to mention that. "As a former student myself, I know how quickly lies and rumors are spreading in Hogwarts, and I know the staff will not intercede on the behalf of the truth, so in order to avoid future misunderstandings, we'll be interrogating the suspects here in public so everyone will know the truth." She smiled maliciously at the staff table while the hall filled with excited conversations again. It was a purely political move, of course. They'd never do such a thing if they didn't already know what would be revealed. Slughorn had been really useful, and so quick to swear an oath that he had told them the truth about the conspiracy. Though to be honest, it wasn't that different from a public trial, for those unfamiliar with the law.

At a nod from her, Keagan had the first stunned Slytherin floated to a quickly conjured chair in the middle of the hall. An ennervate and incarcerous later, Draco Malfoy woke up and found himself the center of attention. As was to be expected, the last of the british branch of house Malfoy started to curse and threaten at once, with his usual lack of creativity, wit and intelligence. A silence put an end to that before he could rile up the students enough to form a lynch mob, and three drops of veritaserum later he was dazed enough for the silence to be finited and the interrogation to begin.

After a few control questions Parker started the interrogation. "Did you plan to attack the Minister and the Chief Warlock today?"

"Yes." Draco answered in a droning voice. Whispers started, but ebbed when the guards glared at the students. He might have added that he was planning, but wouldn't have acted on his plans unless he found a way to avoid getting caught, but the veritaserum limited his answers.

"Did you want to kill them?"

"Yes."

"Why did you want to kill them?"

"They murdered my father."

"Your father was executed, not murdered. Who was helping you?"

"Parkinson. Goyle. Nott. Bulstrode." Murmurs increased again.

"How did you plan to kill the minister and the chief warlock?"

"I wanted to poison their food by imperiusing a house elf in the kitchen."

Hermione almost sighed. Malfoy had tried poisoning in their 6th year, did he really think they'd fall for that again? All the imagination of a brick. Parker posed a few more questions, revealing that the conspirators had not gone beyond planning. Then he exchanged a glance with Hermione and Harry, and started a new inquiry.

"What were your plans with regards to the marriage law?"

"I wanted to marry Granger." Murmurs rose in volume that a silence spell was needed to quiet down the audience. It was lifted and the interrogation continued.

"Did you love her?" More murmuring.

"No."

"Why did you want to marry her then?"

"To teach the mudblood her place."

"How would you do that?"

As it turned out Hermione had to revise her estimate. Draco had quite the imagination as he proved when he laid out his plans for her. In detail. Parker had to cut him short when he became too graphic, the young death eater was quite obsessed with Hermione. Hermione and Harry would have been shocked if not for the testimonies of the death eaters in front of the tribunals they had heard earlier, and even so both had to restrain each other and themselves several times from killing Draco on the spot, especially when the Slytherin revealed that he would have rendered Hermione sterile first so he could have the marriage annulled under the new law once he "had had his fill of the mudblood" and to "prevent the mudblood form spawning" before "marrying a pureblood bride to give him an heir". When he named Astoria Greengrass as his planned bride both Astoria and her sister Daphne had to be restrained from attacking him with bare hands. When he explained he expected other purebloods to force marriage on Hermione afterwards - the law didn't prevent marriages with sterile partners nor annulling the marriage for that reason despite prior knowledge of the condition - Hermione glanced over at the staff table. No one dared to meet her eyes.

On further questioning Draco revealed how he had earned his dark mark - by raping and killing a muggle girl in front of Voldemort. Apparently, that was the bare minimum needed to get the dark mark. Minerva felt sick, and couldn't help wondering if Dumbledore had known that. Thankfully, Parker had cut short Draco's detailed account again, but made sure to have Draco state that he didn't think muggles were anything but vermin.

Harry then, after calming himself - he had known it would be bad, but it was still shocking - had Parker ask another question he had wondered about. And had made a bet with Hermione about, though neither was currently in the mood to care about that.

"Why didn't you kill Albus Dumbledore when he was at your mercy?"

"I was afraid it was a trap. It was too easy. He was Dumbledore, the one who beat Grindelwald. And he was waiting for me, as if he wanted me to cast. It had to be a trap."

Harry nodded to himself, feeling vindicated. He had been sure the ferret had been afraid. Hermione had speculated that Malfoy had felt some trepidation at attacking the greatest wizard of the old generation, one who had always protected the purebloods, and had simply dithered too long, but she hadn't been there. Too bad they hadn't known this before their talk with the portrait, that would have been another fact to throw into his face, that the vaunted remorse of Malfoy hadn't been remorse.

The interrogation ended and Draco was given the counter to the serum. There would be a more thorough interrogation at the DMLE HQ, but it was enough to impress the students and staff here. Once he had all his wits again - not that he had much to start with - Malfoy was alternatively begging for mercy and cursing and threatening again as he was dragged outside to be portkeyed to the prison cells. At least his father had shown some composure when he was pushed through the veil, even though he had sprouted pureblood drivel until the end. Harry expected Draco would be crying and sobbing when his time came. Narcissa Malfoy would have shown more steel, or so he thought, be she had poisoned herself before she could be arrested. Probably to protect her son.

Goyle, Parkinson and Bulstrode were interrogated as well, though not as extensively. Nott, of course, was already dead. Goyle was a no-brainer, no pun intended. He went along with everything Malfoy wanted, and really liked to torture people, but he had nothing else to add, other than his own initiation into the Death Eaters, another murder rape. Parkinson was a female version of Draco, though she wanted to marry him and have all her - likely imagined - rivals forced into marriages with mudbloods to "spoil" them so Draco would not pick any of them. She had a big list of rivals too, many of which were among the students and were ready to rend her to pieces during her testimony. Especially after her description of her own initiation into the ranks of the death eaters. Bulstrode was another Goyle, a follower without a conscience. She was simply hoping for a marriage at all thanks to the new law, fearing to remain single for her life. It would have been sad if not for her account of how she tortured muggleborns and muggles during Voldemort's reign.

Minerva was trembling by the time Bulstrode finished and had been dragged away. Finally, this nightmare was over. She had known the students were not the innocent children Albus had wanted to see, but this… she'd never expected such. Her fellow teachers were reeling as well, they too had been indoctrinated by Dumbledore, and had closed their eyes to the brutal reality. And to her horror, it was not finished yet. One by one the remaining Slytherins were dragged to the chair and either took an oath to truthfully answer, or were drugged with veritaserum. Those who implicated themselves in crimes - and while not the majority by far, far too many for Minerva did - were arrested. Some though were revealed to abhor the pureblood ideology - a stance no doubt helped along by the prior revelations. A few tried to run, and were brought down. Brutally, with a bonebreaker hex to both legs in one case, and a bludgeoning hex that threw the student into a wall five meters away in another. Pomfrey had to render emergency aid to both. Those two were not interrogated, but simply arrested.

Then Hermione walked to the center of the hall again, fire in her eyes. A sonorous followed, and she began to speak. "Students. Teachers. You have heard what kind of criminals were hidden among your ranks. You have heard what crimes they committed. You have heard what plans they had." She snorted. "Some claim the marriage law was meant to save our world. Now you all know the truth! It was meant to save the power of the purebloods, the same purebloods who had just tried to kill murder all normal people and muggleborns! It was meant to allow them to rape us, break us! All in the name of saving a culture that already considered us second class citizens.

This is not some coincidence, or the work of a dark lord! This is the result of pureblood inbreeding and isolation! Ignorance and arrogance bred bigotry and racism and led to rape and murder! Look around you! Those of you born in the normal world, what do you see? An old castle, bereft of anything more modern than a magical radio! Is this something to be proud of? A life without television, computers, telephones, paper and pens?

This is the pureblood culture at work - they are so arrogant and ignorant, they reject everything the modern world has to offer, and try to force everyone to live as primitively, thinking they are superior and refusing to accept that the world has left them behind, that we're no longer living in the middle ages! Remember the muggle studies - they do not want their own people to know how primitive magical britain is, compared to the normal world. They do not want to realize how inferior they are, despite magic!

But when we do not accept a world where we are second class citizens, where our families are treated as animals, when we expect the rights we were born with, we are oppressed and murdered so the purebloods can keep their power!

This ends now! No longer will we let traditions that only serve purebloods stand, no longer will we accept inferior tools and solutions just because they are magical! We all are british citizens, and we deserve better than a life stuck in the middle ages with a thin veneer of magic! We won't abandon our culture any longer! We will combine the best of technology and magic! When we enter the 21st century, we will be doing it as magical citizens at the side of our non magical families and friends, not peasants serving pureblood masters!"

Hermione ended her sonorous, and stepped back into the arms of Harry, trembling with emotion while he rubbed her back. Most of the students cheered, though some of them surely were just doing it out of fear, or cunning. No matter, the majority of the students was caught up enough in Hermione's speech to eagerly swear an oath and declare their opposition to pureblood teachings without resentment.

But as Harry and Hermione expected - and Horace had predicted - there were pureblood supremacists in each house, though not everyone among those had committed a crime yet. Still, each house lost a fair number of students, and the staff heard of some more crimes they had not suspected. Or had not want to suspect. In more than one case the crime discovered was a revenge assault on slytherin students for something their family had done. Those students too were led away, though it took Harry Potter stating that they would be judged fairly for their deeds, and that their losses would be taken into account, to keep a riot from starting.

Harry and Hermione, holding hands again, left the castle, waving, with the rest of the DMLE officers. Both were wondering how long it would take for the parents of the students to hear about and react to the arrests and Hermione's speech.

It took the teachers, most of them still shocked by the days events and revelations, a while to realize that Hogwarts had changed. Minerva realized that she'd have to rapidly start the reforms Hermione had demanded, or the students, riled up by the minister's speech, might lose all respect for the teachers. At that moment the old teacher finally understood that her whole world had already irrevocably changed. Glancing at her quill she could not help but wonder where she could get one of those "pens" Hermione had mentioned.


	5. Chapter 5: Home Life

**Chapter 5: Home Life**

Harry nodded a greeting at Hermione's secretary as he walked past her and to the door to the office of the youngest Minister of Magic in history. The secretary, another muggleborn who had been stuck in a dead-end menial job before the revolution, smiled back. If Harry guessed right she had been waiting for Hermione to finish so she too could call it a day and go home as well, but contrary to him, she couldn't just drag her boss home. He could.

It had become a routine lately. He'd finish up his work, then wait for her near the apparition point of the building. She'd be late, and he'd wait, before finally heading to her office and get her. His waiting times had decreased gradually, though he still went to the meeting point - Hermione insisted she'd be on time "tomorrow". A faint smile on the lips he entered after a perfunctory knock. Smith was standing inside, near the door, and Harry was just fast enough to catch how the man relaxed just a bit after spotting him - and after a glance at the runes above the door, who were there to dispel glamours and detect polyjuice and compulsion spells.

"It's time to head home, Hermione." He announced. She glared at him with a mixture of annoyance and guilt. She opened her mouth, and he cut her off "Whatever it is it can wait till tomorrow, Hermione. Unless it's a question of life and death." They had had the same discussion for two weeks now, and even the infamously stubborn Minister of Magic - everyone who remembered her S.P.E.W. campaign agreed with that description - had realized that Harry was simply not giving in. He considered a healthy work/life balance - and ironically, it had been her who had taught him about that - necessary for the health and wellbeing of her, and as everyone knew, when it came to saving his friends Harry was not giving any ground. He hadn't forgotten the effects of her time-turner-enabled schedule on his best friend in their 3rd Year.

And so the two left with just a tiny amount of grumbling from Hermione, and almost invisible smirks on Smith and the secretary's face. They went down to the apparition point, where Dean had been checking for threats, as usual, and said their goodbyes to Dean and Smith before apparating to 12 Grimmauld Place. As soon as they had arrived they apparated away again though - the house was not dark and filthy as it had been, and had been cleared of curses and traps by a team from Gringotts, but Harry didn't want to live in Sirius' last prison, as he called it privately. The house only served, or would serve to be precise, should it ever be needed, for public functions that required to be held at the Minister's or Chief Warlock's home. So far they had not found any, and would likely change any that was discovered, but Hermione felt better being prepared. And of course it made them safer if the purebloods left thought they were living in the ancestral home of the Blacks.

Harry and Hermione actually lived in a modern flat in a normal building in London. Both arrived and were immediately greeted by Winky, their house elf. Another concession of Hermione, though Harry suspected she was secretly very glad she now had a reason to drop the agreement of sharing the chores equally - an agreement she had insisted upon vehemently when they decided to live together and he offered to do most of them. At least the first week together had put an end to Hermione's notion of living "without using magic for everything like those pureblood idiots", and she had quickly learned every household charm she could get her hands on when she realized how much time all those chores would cost her. Time she could have better spent reading, learning, and cuddling.

Harry and Hermione's jackets were lifted off their shoulders and floated away while Winky informed them of the meal she had prepared. She actually asked if it was to their liking, and would replace it with another meal else should either of the two young people even hint at preferring something else, but both Harry and Hermione felt better not dwelling on that, and enjoy the meal.

Afterwards the two found themselves, as usual, on the couch in the living room. The TV was on, but neither paid it any attention. Today's events were on their minds. Or rather, today's events, the events that would follow in the near future, and the events of the past weeks were on their minds. And their rather crucial role in all of it.

"Draco will be executed." Harry started, pulling Hermione closer to him.

"He deserves it."

"Indeed."

A long pause followed.

"They all deserved it, Hermione."

"I know. Each individual execution was justified. Veritaserum, witnesses, oaths." She didn't mention the deaths caused by the riot that turned into a mob storming the ministry and wizengamot. Both knew that had to have cost innocent lives on either side. But if they had not started it, had not finished it, then down the road far more would have died. And even more would have died for nothing. "But when I add them all up it's such a big number… it feels wrong to kill so many." Hermione knew many other revolutions had had a much larger body count, but they usually had much larger populations to start with. By some definitions - Huttenbach's to be precise, if shortened and entirely taken out of context - it was a genocide. Of course, the purebloods attempt to to wipe out all "Mudbloods" was a textbook case of attempted genocide according to every definition. "It's really weird. Normally, the individual deaths have a larger emotional impact than the statistics. Here it's the opposite."

Harry hugged her tightly - as tightly as she hugged him when he needed it. "If one thousand men do a crime, one thousand men have to be judged."

Hermione sighed, closed her eyes. "I know. To be honest, it's not so much the number of deaths, but the number of bigots we discover. The number of pureblood wizards and witches who loathe and despise normal people and muggleborn." She frowned. They really needed a better word for that, "muggleborn" was so degrading. "Before this, I didn't know how many wizards were bigots. How many thought I was worth less than them just for being born to the wrong kind of people. I thought, I hoped, that they were just terrified of Voldemort, and going along with it to save themselves, but… they look down on us, and on all non-magicals. They really do not want us around until we're totally brainwashed into accepting that we'll be second class citizens until a few generations down our grandchildren are as bigoted as the rest and look down on new muggleborns. A job Hogwarts was doing for decades."

Harry kissed the top of her head. "They have no choice now but to accept it that the tables have turned."

Hermione laughed cynically "The ones that are left, that is."

Harry snorted. "At least our children won't have to deal with either Dumbledore's ideas of education and morals, or Malfoy's bigotry." Then he froze. "I mean, not that I want children right now, we've got so much work to do, and things are still shaky, it would be very irresponsible to, you know…"

Hermione placed her index on his lips to stop his babbling. They had talked about that before, he was just repeating her arguments. She knew he'd not press her, but his babbling had shaken her out of her funk. They had to consider the future, not the past.

Licking her lips, she shifted around a bit and whispered into his ear "But, Chief Warlock, we can surely … revise and prepare... for the day when we are ready?"

Harry nodded quickly, shaking her finger off his lips, and carried her into their bedroom. Both forgot their worries till the next day.

* * *

The dinner at the Burrow was as lively as ever - on the surface. Only those who knew the family intimately would have been able to pick up on the slight tension that was present during the family dinner. And of such people few were left after the war, and fewer after the revolution. Percy couldn't think of any, actually, who were not related to them. He wasn't even sure if Hermione and Harry would be able to spot the changes that had happened to the family - or if they would know the reasons for it. He doubted it. Hermione, for all her intelligence, had always been a bit… behind when it came to relationships. Maybe "reserved" was a better word. It wouldn't do to think ill of his boss, after all, especially a boss with such a body count to her name.

But the changes were there. For outsiders they might look and sound as loud and lively as before the war, but they were not. In the past Molly would have not hesitated a second to tell everyone of her children what she thought they should do. And loudly too. Now though she kept glancing at him before such, and her utter conviction that she knew best was gone.

"You've cooked a great meal, Mum." Percy stated. He had changed too. Before he would have called her "mother", if only to distance himself from his brothers. As one of six - five now, he thought, briefly feeling the pain of the loss of Fred again in full - brothers one used what one could in order to try to become more than "number 3 of the Weasleys". Nowadays he called her "Mum", to make her - and himself - feel closer. It was true too, of course - Molly Weasley cooked better than anyone he knew, professionals included. Not that he knew many restaurants, his financial situation hadn't allowed him to eat out much at the more expensive places when he was living estranged from his family, then the war had taken its toll. Now he had, or soon would have, the means to try out those muggle places Justin was often talking about during their breaks, but he was needed at home.

George was not around today, he claimed work. Percy suspected he was trying to forget the loss of his twin with the help of a bottle or three. Again. He really needed to get Angelina to look George up, but he had to be subtle, or either George, Angelina, or both would resent him for meddling. And he'd prefer to avoid that, if he could. He suppressed the sigh he wanted to let slip, thinking of his younger brother. And his dead younger brother. Many of his peers were appalled at the mass executions following the revolution, but Percy welcomed them with open arms. Those murdering scum had taken Fred's life, almost destroyed his family, and would have gotten away with it if not for Harry and Hermione, and the Wizengamot's arrogance and stupidity. And each dead pureblood death eater meant one less obstacle to the career plans of him, the son of the poorest well-known pureblood family. No one would be looking down on his children, that he had promised himself.

Oh, he knew that currently every opportunist was claiming a muggle ancestor, or at least a muggleborn friend, and taking crash courses in muggle studies. A fair number were being tutored by Arthur, and Percy could barely hide his mirth at that. He loved his father, but he was not a real muggle expert. But those purebloods currying favor with the new regime were too stupid or still too bigoted to ask a real muggle or a muggleborn for help. Not that it would help them much.

Percy had thought things through, ever since he first heard about the proposed marriage law. He had made one blunder in the past, betting on the wrong horse in the struggle between Fudge and Dumbledore, and it had almost cost him his family and his career. He was determined not to make the same mistake again. Anyone familiar with Hermione and Harry would have known they'd not accept that law. He glanced at Ronald, Ginny and Molly, and had to amend that thought. Almost anyone. And after the war anyone who had seen them, and not what the wishful thinking of Dumbledore's cronies had wanted them to be, would have realized that neither Harry nor Hermione were the children who had entered the war anymore. They would not have, as everyone seemed to have thought, simply continue the plans of Dumbledore.

So he had put some feelers out and kept in touch with the rest of the DA. And he had met Hermione and Harry, and realized that they were, as the muggle saying went, playing for keeps. Sure, one could have mistaken Hermione's rant as coming from the same girl who ranted about house elves or assignments, but that girl, Percy knew at that moment, had died in the war. In the end, it had been an easy decision: No one with half a brain would want to be on the wrong side of the two who did more than anyone else to win the war against Voldemort - who, at the time, had far more power at his command than the current ministry. It had taken Percy a lot of effort, and not a small amount of subterfuge and outright manipulation, but he managed to make Arthur quit the ministry in protest of the new law, together with him. Mainly because he had promised - technically, it hadn't been a promise, more a declared intention - to start a business investigating muggle items and trying to replace them with magic versions. He did that, too, though his contribution remained purely financially.

After events got messy, Percy told Arthur that he felt he had to return and work for the new ministry, as one of the few with experience there who was untainted by the earlier administration. Arthur, at that point, was too shaken with the loss of so many colleagues - and at the hands of Harry and Hermione, who he thought as like his own children - to realize that Percy was eager at the opportunity offered to him. So many rivals dead and disgraced, so much knowledge lost, and he was among the few pureblood employees who had stood with the muggleborns against the marriage law - even if he had just quit in protest - and was an old friend of the two new rulers of Magical Britain too. Close enough to a friend, at least. No one mentioned his unfortunate past before the war, in any case.

Percy laughed, in private, at the purebloods trying to "go muggleborn". They were shortsighted and stupid. Sure, currently muggle culture was all the rage, and no one who had even the slightest fondness for even a few of the pureblood traditions would have any hope of a career, but things would change. The muggleborn would try to alter everything, and use muggle laws as their blueprints, but the magical world was different. One could not use muggle laws and simply add "magical" in a few places - even the most asinine laws were once put up for good reasons. At least the ones not the result of bribery and corruption. Far too many of those, Percy knew, far too much stupidity at work. He could not wait to straighten all that out.

But he would have to be patient. Toe the line, and wait for the first of the unavoidable blunders muggleborns would make when dealing with magical issues. Even Hermione hadn't realized for years that house elves couldn't simply be freed - though her solution, Percy had to admit, when she finally found one, was an almost perfect mix of Ravenclaw's intellect and wisdom, and Slytherin's cunning. He would use that as an example for his own proposals, when his time would come. And his time would come. Harry didn't really want to rule or lead. He could do it, better than most, but he didn't really want to. And Hermione was too smart to last as minister. She wouldn't be able to stomach working with so many idiots - and compared to her, many were idiots - and would eventually quit. Probably to go into research, and revolutionize magic as they knew it. But that was for the unspeakables to care about, not for the future Minister of Magic.

Percy would use the next years to learn all he could about the muggle tools - and how he loved them! His father had never explained just how much more orderly, efficient and neat those pens, computers, phones and paper made his life and work! Arthur had always been going on about toys and tools and parts, never about muggle organisation and paperwork.

Percy glanced at his father while nodding to Molly's complaints about Luna Lovegood's latest addition to the rebuilt Rookery. So it was now housing an entire zoo? Anyone who had had to suffer through Hagrid's lessons in care of monsters couldn't be bothered about the lovegoods' menagerie. (Percy would come to rue this thought, but only much, much later.)

Arthur was an underestimated genius though, in Percy's opinion. That man had managed to enchant a car to fly and become invisible, even to develop a life of its own, if Ron's tales were to be trusted, and all without understanding what most of the things that made a car work did. Percy was sure he'd manage magical cellphones soon enough, without understanding what he did, and that would finally end their family's financial difficulties. If George was straightened out by then he could take over marketing the magical phones. Percy's share in the company would make him rich.

By the time dessert was served Ron was going on about Draco again, and how he would get to watch him get executed. Percy didn't think Ron was wrong - Malfoy was guilty, and as one of his victim's in their 6th year, when he almost died from poison meant for Dumbledore, and one of Harry's and Hermione's oldest friends, he certainly would get his wish. Unless he managed to make Harry or Hermione mad.

Percy couldn't understand how Ron had managed to mess his relationship with Harry and Hermione up. Sure, Hermione picking Harry over him had hurt him, but - anyone in their right state of mind would have realized Ron wouldn't have been happy with her. Ron wanted a woman to cook for him, bear him children, and root for the Chudley Cannons. Hermione would have turned him into a doormat, or driven him crazy in short order, Percy thought, but at least they would have had spectacular make-up sex until they finally separated for good. Or killed each other. Still, with Harry being Chief Warlock, and Hermione Minister of Magic, Ron should have wormed his way back into their good graces already. Although, given how ruthless both had turned out to be - Percy was sure even Arthur would have been killed had he gone along with the Marriage Law, or had been at the wrong place during the riots - maybe Ron was getting smarter, and not jumping into mortal danger as headlessly as he did in the past. Not that his stupidity was unheard of in the family.

If he had not stopped Molly's attempt to use the marriage law as a reason to have Hermione marry Ron and Harry marry Ginny… Sure, she had probably, maybe, considered that this was the best solution for everyone, get married and the law doesn't matter to them, but he was rather convinced that Hermione would have not seen it that way, but as an attempt to control her - and quite correctly too. Fleur could tell tales of "mum-in-law" Molly that would drive any girlfriend off, as Charlie had found out once already.

He had not mentioned "getting killed" as a possible consequence when he had talked to Molly, but after the bloody revolution… even Molly had realized just what could have happened. Which was why she was now so… restrained… around him. And avoided Hermione and Harry. George though… he hadn't realized just what love potions meant to Hermione, until Percy had pointed it out to him. That had been one powerful vanishing spell.

Molly still thought Harry and Hermione were much too young to do anything like leading a government or deciding anything about their own lives, but at least she did not mention it to everyone anymore. Ginny… Ginny was preparing to try out for the Harpies again. With a number of teams having had sudden openings after the tribunals started, she had a good chance to get in too, especially if people thought she and Harry had separated amicably. Little sister really should have known better than to try to pressure Harry into marrying her to avoid the marriage law, and to make him distance himself from Hermione at the same time to avoid the backlash from her activities, but Ginny had been quite insecure about Harry and his feelings for Hermione for a long time. Even if nothing had happened in the forest of Dean - and Percy didn't think that was true, not when two young people were all alone, in a war, and had to risk their life each day - Harry and Hermione were so close, anyone else in a relationship with either of them would feel insecure at least at times.

Dessert had come and gone - mostly into Ron's stomach - and Percy had barely tasted it. He had been making idle conversation while letting his thoughts roam, an unfortunate habit he had acquired due to all those pointless meetings at work run by people other than himself. He needed to work on getting rid of that - keeping the Weasleys safe could need his full attention at any moment, after all.

When he stepped out, late at night, to apparate to his flat, he looked up at the stars - one thing the muggle world was missing, with all their lights and numbers - a clear night sky. He felt content with his life, more content than ever before.

Some might say the hat should have put him in Slytherin, Percy knew that, but doing what was needed to save one's family, no matter how others thought of it, sometimes no matter how one's family thought of it, took a certain kind of courage too. And if doing what was best for one's family was best for oneself too… well, he certainly would not complain.


	6. Chapter 6: Meeting at the Veil

**Chapter 6: Meeting at the Veil**

Ron checked himself in the mirror. His new suit fit him, or so he thought, even that weird noose around his neck they called a "tie". Muggles were weird. What was wrong with robes? Granted one couldn't move as well in them as one could in muggle clothes, but wizards apparated or flew, they didn't run! Robes didn't try to strangle you, unless they were cursed, of course. He was very tempted to loosen the noose, but Percy and Mum had been clear on that: He was to look and act his best when meeting "his best friends". That was why Percy had bought the suit for him. If it had been George he had thought it would have been a prank - and he would have been delighted to see his older brother finally start pranking him again. Ok, mostly happy. There were more deserving targets for pranking, in Ron's opinion. But since it had been Percy this was no joke. Sighing, he went downstairs, where his Mum was waiting. Hopefully she'd not try to wipe dirt from his nose again!

Percy was there too, wearing a suit as well, and a noose. He nodded at him, smiling even - every Weasley knew it had been Percy who had gotten Dad to quit his job, and even if Ron was sure… well, pretty sure… mostly… that Dad wouldn't have been in real danger… he buried the thought, and spread his arms for Molly's inspection, which she turned into one of her hugs. Ow. Mum had to be worried, she didn't hug that forcefully, usually. He glanced at the family clock - all clear. Dad was in his shed, tinkering with fellytones that one could carry around. Magic fellytones though - unlike muggle ones, those would be able to work even without a cord! Another proof that magic was better - muggles were limited by the length of their cords when they wanted to carry their fellytone around, but wizards could carry theirs around wherever they wanted! It would be a big hit, even if he didn't really understand how they would look muggle without the cord. Maybe there was an illusionary cord? Or a notice-me-not spell on the missing cord? Was it possible to put a spell on something that was missing? Hermione would know, he thought. And buried that thought very quickly. He didn't want to think about her.

Oh, Mum had finished. And asked something. He smiled back, and nodded. Nodding to what she said made her happy. Or less unhappy. And that was a good thing. These days Molly wasn't happy that often. Things just were not like they should be, or had been. Same thing, in Ron's opinion. He didn't like changes. Too much was changing. Next thing, they might even want to change Quidditch! Over his dead body!

Percy said his farewell to Mum, and the two stepped outside to apparate to the ministry. Percy was talking about how to behave, but Ron was only half-listening. There was nothing to think about - he was simply going to watch his worst enemy getting his just desserts. Ron didn't understand why Percy and Molly made such a fuss about it. It would be a great day to see the slimy slytherin getting pushed into the veil. Nothing could ruin that, not even Harry and Hermione being there. He hoped.

They had arrived at the ministry apparition point, and had been searched and checked for polyjuice and spells. Ron didn't understand why everyone was still so mental about it. You-Know-Who was dead, and his death eaters were dead too, now. Or would be shortly - he thought Draco was one of the last, or the last of the marked death eaters. He had always known the git had not turned to the light, and he was vindicated at last! Anyway, the war was over, they had won, they could relax now, not act as if an army of slimy slytherins was ready to storm the ministry. They couldn't attack anyway, not without violating their oaths, and losing their magic. And who would risk that? To lose his magic… to live like a muggle… Ron would rather die. They had no butterbeer, they probably had only water to drink, and without magic, they couldn't cook as well as Mum. Losing his magic was unthinkable.

They passed the atrium, and the new fountain there. Hermione had been behind that, he was sure - it showed just about all magical races, and all on the same height. All but giants - not enough room for those. He chuckled, imaging for an instant Hermione trying to expand the atrium so she could fit a giant made of stone in… wait, why didn't they simply expand the room? Puzzled, Ron almost missed Percy greeting Katie Bell. Hello! Last he had seen her had been at the battle of Hogwarts, and she hadn't looked that good there, hadn't she? He had had eyes mostly for Hermione, and of course there had been the battle, but how could he have missed… Oh, she was here to watch Draco die as well! Of course, she too had been almost killed by the snake in 6th year. She missed out on most of the Quidditch season too! Ron thought that alone would be worth the veil. Though it meant they had something in common!

"Hey, Katie! Looking forward to see the snake die? I hope he screams and cries and wets himself!"

"Ah… I just want to know it's over, getting closure, you know?" She gave him a weak smile. Ron was puzzled again. Seeing one's would-be murderer die was great! The girl was mental, probably an after-effect of the cursed necklace. Ginny, he knew, had taken great satisfaction in seeing Lucius Malfoy die. If only they had a pensieve she could have shared the memory, but even so she had told him so much last night, he could imagine it perfectly.

"So, have you been playing Quidditch again? With most of the snakes dead there are lots of openings in the teams!" That should cheer her up, Ron was sure. Dead snakes and Quidditch - almost a perfect combination.

"No. I am looking into taking muggle courses, to get a better resume." Studying after school? Mental indeed. She had been at the battle of Hogwarts, she was a hero. Not as big a hero as himself, or … the others… but still. Why study? And with so many aurors dead - still a touchy subject at home, Mum said they had been killed for doing their job and following orders - there should be lots of openings there too, for a Gryffindor! Or she could marry a rich wizard, with her looks. Maybe a rich, understanding wizard, with her issues.

Oh, they had arrived at the Death Chamber. For a moment Ron remembered the battle at the ministry, where Sirius had died. And most of his friends had almost died. And where he himself had … he didn't want to think about that particular part of the battle, shivering at the memory of those brains. Focus, Ron, he told himself, you're here to see Draco die!

He looked around. Percy had gone to work, two aurors - or whatever they were called now - were there at the veil, two more at the door. Katie was here, though leaning against the wall. Stupid, she'd not get a good look at Draco's face from there. Loony was here too, playing at reporter again? He had heard the Quibbler had been restarted, but who would want to read that weird newspaper when the Daily Prophet was now finally printing the truth? Or was she here because she had been imprisoned at Malfoys once? Ron waved at her and mumbled a greeting. He didn't want to talk much, or she'd weird him out. Then two more people entered, and Ron was now wishing he would be talking to Loony. Harry and Hermione. He had known they'd be there, but he had managed not to think about it. Calm down, Ron, he told himself, or tried to, they are your best friends, your mates. You beat You-know-who together!

"Ah.. Hi Harry. Hi Herm...ione." Merlin, it still hurt to see them together, though he wasn't really sure anymore if it hurt to see Hermione with anyone else, or with Harry, or to see them, without him. But even while it hurt he was glad he wasn't… that close to them, not anymore. Hermione was scary, and she had Harry completely under her thumb. If she was willing to have wizards executed who were not snakes, just for following orders, what would she do to him if he broke one of her rules? And he would have, they were mental! A part of him pined for his fantasy - him and Hermione, a happy family, with four or five children, not too many, he had learned from his parents, seven were too much. But he had realized that Hermione would never be the wife he needed. Late, almost too late - fortunately, he had not yet bought a ring for her - but he had finally realized that she was simply too different for him to be happy with her. She was simply too… muggle.

There, he thought it. He wouldn't say it - that was a bad thing to say, these days. Even he understood that, But it was true. That was her main fault. Contrary to what many believed he had never expected her to become a housewife. He had noticed how much she resented the time at Grimmauld Place, when Molly made them clean the house. And he remembered her cooking in the tent, with a shudder. No, he had been fine with a working wife, and had expected - even counted on, if he was honest - that she'd earn more money than he would. The Cannons would not be paying well, after all. But he had expected her to, what was the word.. ah, well, to fit into his world. The magical world. Be a brilliant spell designer, a ministry employee, a teacher, the headmistress or librarian of Hogwarts. But above all, a proper witch. Someone one could be proud of, someone who would raise little witches and wizards. Not someone who proudly wore her muggle clothes, spoke like a muggle, thought like a muggle, and always tried to make his world more muggle. A few muggle things were nice. Something to talk about with guests. Something to laugh at. Best stored in a shed, outside the house. But he didn't want to, couldn't live in a muggle house, with a muggle wife.

Harry could. He probably could even be the muggle wife, they way he cooked and cleaned. Ron almost snorted at the thought. Harry was Chief Warlock now - a fate worse than death, Ron thought. No more Quidditch for the best seeker England had seen in a century! All that paperwork, all that reading and writing, and dealing with old people… he probably had no fun at all anymore, poor guy. Well, almost no fun - Ron's eye briefly, very briefly wandered down Hermione's skirt. Far too short, it almost didn't reach her calves! Muggle clothes, another thing he wouldn't have been able to stomach - his wife showing her legs and body like that to others! No, he was very glad that Harry and Hermione were together, and hadn't dragged him or Ginny into their muggle world. Or so he told himself.

And yet they were his two best friends. They had been through hell together, and came back. they had seen each other at their worst, and best. Each had risked their life for the others, and each had been saved in turn. Living in different worlds, living different lives didn't change that. Couldn't change that. They still had that bond forged over years of danger and friendship, Ron realized then, even if it had stretched a bit thinner lately, what with the … changes at the ministry. And he realized he was fine with that. Too muggle, or not, he was fine with it.

With a smile - an honest smile - he stepped forward, ignoring Harry's outstretched hand, and hugged his best friend, hard. Not as hard as his mum though. He stepped back, shook Harry's shoulders while looking him into the eyes. "Mate!" Then he turned to Hermione, ignoring her widening eyes and how she was just starting to raise her arms, and hugged her as well. "Hermione! Good to see you two! How have you been doing?" He missed how the man behind them quickly holstered his wand, missed how just about everyone else in the room but Luna and Katie was gaping at him - it was, after all, an execution they were attending, not a class reunion! - but he wasn't missing his two best friends, not anymore.

* * *

Harry and Hermione had dreaded this moment, but felt compelled to attend. They had been responsible for the execution, after all, and while not attending would have been the perfect final insult, to show Draco was truly beneath their notice, it wouldn't have been right. And Hermione wanted to make sure the foul little murderer was executed. One death eater rat escaping justice in their third year was enough, there wouldn't be a death eater ferret following that example, thank you very much!

But once they had known Ron would attend as well, they had been worried. Relations to the Weasleys had been strained even before the revolution. Ever since she and Ron and Harry and Ginny had broken up and she and Harry had become a couple - the actual order of those three events might be in dispute. Hermione had been worried about how Ron was taking it. Long-term, that was - she had been sure, and had turned out, as usual, if she said so herself, to be correct, that his first reaction would be loud, rude, and emotional. But would he forgive (he would never forget, anyone knew that), or would their friendship be ruined? Not that he had much to sand on, they had forgiven him so much, after all. She and Harry had avoided him and the Weasleys, mostly, after that, and then the preparations for the revolution had taken so much time, not to mention the secrecy needed… Percy had recently assured them everything was fine, that there was no danger of either Ron or Ginny making a stupid mistake, that they were over it, but Hermione had been sceptical.

She wasn't worried about Ginny. The girl was good with her wand, but she was better. And she had bodyguards now. If the little girl tried something… Harry was hers. But Ron, Ron was a close friend, not just an ex or the sister of her best friend. That was why she had dreaded getting involved - well, in that way - with Harry. So much history, so much friendship at stake. And yet she had gotten involved with him in that way. Hermione was many things - brilliant, scary, ruthless, very stubborn, and sometimes petty, and a few other not so good things she didn't want to go into right now - but one thing she was not, and that was dishonest. She hadn't been able to lie to herself for long, back then, and when Harry had come to complain about Ginny starting to act like Molly, trying to decide his life for him, she hadn't pointed out that Ginny would likely go along with his plans, if he had actual plans for his life. She hadn't pointed out that arranging a meeting with Puddlemere United's coach wasn't the same as forcing him to go, or sign him up as a player, and that it probably was more an attempt by Ginny to get a meeting herself. She hadn't told him of her problems with Ron, her fear of turning into a nag, or worse, a Molly, who would be running his life for him.

No, she had sat Harry down, and poured out her heart to him. Told him how she had felt about him since their first year, how she had never told him, first because she hadn't realized her feelings, then because she was sure he deserved better, then because she was no home wrecker, when he was with others - and that date with Chang was ruined by coincidence, thank you very much. If the b..witch couldn't handle her friend having a best female friend, then she was not right for him anyway. Not that she went into that many details then. Or since. And how she had been afraid she'd ruin their friendship. And had been torn between him and Ron. Back then, and that she didn't tell him either, Ron had been simply more attractive from a purely physical point of view - tall, strong, handsome, hard at all the right places, while Harry had been scrawny, and, well, short. Even a girl like her had eyes. And while Ron had his faults, Harry too was no saint. Moody, even though with the prophecy, and the horcrux in his scar, that was excused. Often easily swayed, yet sometimes too stubborn. Harry had changed a lot, he had been growing and maturing ever since he started to live without his death hanging over his head and without a shard of Voldemort's foul soul in his head.

She had told him of picking Ron since Harry had Ginny, and had given Ron that "Sister" speech. He had listened, had had to listen since she had been going a mile a minute, not giving him any chance to say anything until she was done. She hadn't finished as she had planned, with a strong "And since the end of the war, since we have had time to life, to settle down some, I have realized I love you. I want you." followed by grabbing him and kissing him until he realized she was the one for her.

No, she had finished with a nervous "And so, I realized I was and am in love with you.", biting her lower lip while she tried to meet his eyes. Nervous, afraid he would reject her, that she had not only ruined her relationship with Ron but also her friendship with Harry with her actions. But he had kissed her, and all was well. At least Ginny had broken him of that shyness that probably kept him from making a first move during their time in the tent. Or so he explained, when it was his time to talk, and her time listen. And they kissed again, and again.

Things had been going well ever since that day, the break-up with the Weasleys, and the marriage law notwithstanding. But Hermione missed Ron too. Her friend Ron, not the boyfriend who could not do a thing right and had no clues about the real world, and no tact either. And she knew Harry missed Ron too. He was loud-mouthed, annoying whenever Quidditch came up - which came up all the time near him, not that Harry was that much better about that stupid sport. If only Harry would listen to her proposals about reforming Quidditch! - and only displayed his manners or skill with a wand when absolutely forced to, but he was their annoying best friend. Or had been, she wasn't sure.

When they met in the execution chamber - the proper new name for it, thank you very much! - only her self-discipline had kept her from flinching. The way he flinched, the way he stumbled over her name - had he tried to shorten it again? - it looked like he was afraid of them. Ron afraid of them, truly afraid, not nervous about her reaction to him not doing his homework in time, that was a blow. Ron, the man who faced death eaters and trolls as a child, and was more concerned about his next meal than his next dangerous situation, afraid of his two best friends? For an instant, Hermione felt all her doubts about her chosen course of action return. Not that she'd change anything, she truly felt it was the only choice she had had, but was it truly so …

Her thoughts were interrupted by Ron smiling - honestly smiling, he couldn't fool her - and grabbing Harry in a hug that showed he was the son of Molly Weasley. Hermione smiled, honestly smiled then. Things were… wait, what was he do-oof! Hermione had to correct herself. Molly's wasn't quite as strong as Ron, or as tall. He was almost crushing her against his chest, she could almost hear her ribs cracking… and yet, she felt well. Their friend was back.

Of course she was quite aware what kind of spectacle they were presenting to the rest of the room. And the part of her that wasn't enjoying the moment was already making plans how best to spin that. It would send a nice sign to the remaining purebloods that as long as they were not violating the law, they were in no danger. Luna would want an interview, or at least a comment, anyway, in her professional capacity, and would probably explain how she had expected all this to happen in when they had her over in their flat next.

Hermione also knew they'd have arguments, nasty ones probably. Ron was too much a pureblood wizard to understand what drove her and Harry. But that would be dealt with when it happened. Right now Hermione was simply happy to have her friend back.


	7. Chapter 7: Draco's Last Plan

**Chapter 7: Draco's Last Plan**

I am a pureblood. A noble. A Malfoy.

I am a pureblood. A noble. A Malfoy.

I am a pureblood. A noble. A Malfoy.

Draco repeated those words over and over again. They had almost become a mantra for him - not that he'd knew what that meant. But the views those words represented had been taught to him since his earliest childhood, and he clung to them to control himself, to hold himself together in the face of his imminent death. He was sitting in a cell in the ministry, on a small cot, facing dull, grey walls. His wand had been taken, snapped before his eyes at his "trial". Those traitor and mudbloods had even perverted justice, a noble was supposed to be judged by his peers, the Wizengamot, not some mudblood. He was sure the Wizengamot wouldn't have judged him to have been at fault, would have forbidden veritaserum from being used, would have… he shuddered, feeling his eyes grow moist with tears of frustration, hatred, and… no, no fear. He took deep breaths, forcing himself to be calm.

A Malfoy doesn't show weakness.

A Malfoy is always in control.

A Malfoy is better.

He wanted to believe that. He had believed that his whole life. Even after the war. Even after seeing his father at his worst. Even after the defeat. No, the setback. Or so they had thought, after they had survived the Battle of Hogwarts and had escaped prison, once again. They even had laughed about it, laughed at the light wizards who considered them redeemed just because they had rendered them some aid. His father had said it would be like 1981 - they'd withdraw a bit from public, avoided old friends who had not been as smart in keeping their options open, showed some fake remorse, and would start to dominate Wizarding Britain again once things had settled.

Draco still didn't understand what exactly had gone wrong, but he knew it was the mudblood's fault. It always was the mudblood's fault, always had been, right from the start of his Hogwarts years. Oh, he knew his father blamed Potter, but Potter was not the real problem.

Potter had been a thorn in Draco's side since they first met on the train to Hogwarts. One could even say Potter had been his rival. Quidditch, duelling, power plays - the two had clashed wherever they met. As much as it galled to admit it, Potter had beaten him often - several times - too, but, Draco knew, just with luck.

But Potter had beaten the Dark Lord. There was no shame in suffering a defeat - a setback - at the hand of someone who was equal to the greatest Dark Lord Britain had seen in centuries! And Potter was a halfblood, from an old family. Almost acceptable. Obviously the old blood had won out despite the corruption from his mudblood mother. And with his atrocious manners and clothes, almost as bad as the Weasleys', he would have been no real threat to Draco, despite his luck. Potter had even acted like an ignorant mudblood, just to defy Draco, despite the loss of face that caused among the proper people. The proof was that even his own house had turned against him on several occasions - something he, Draco, would have never allowed.

No, the real problem had been and was the mudblood. Granger. That mudblood had plagued his school years, turned what should have been his best years into a nightmare. Not only didn't she know her place, and acted as if she was worthy of learning magic, despite being a dirty mudblood, but she had the audacity to actually excel at it! That cursed mudblood had been doing better in school than most proper purebloods! She was the living proof of what was wrong with the Magical World, the best example of the threat the mudbloods presented, but even worse, she seemed to disprove - contradict - the value of blood. How could a mudblood, the spawn of muggles, be better at magic than a proper pureblood?

Draco had almost despaired over it. She had to have been cheating, he had been sure. But how could she have fooled all the teachers, and even Snape? Although Snape had turned out to have been a traitor all along, so maybe… no. Draco had eliminated cheating as the reason for the mudblood's success quite quickly, not even far into his third year. Then he had thought that the mudblood couldn't be an actual mudblood, but was a pureblood in disguise. Maybe she was the child of purebloods who had been killed in the war, placed with muggles by Dumbledore so she'd not know of her heritage, and would be friendly towards muggles as a result. If he could prove it, prove she was actually a pureblood, then the world would see that he was correct, that blood would tell. And maybe she'd see it too, and …

Draco ground his teeth and forced his thoughts away from that particular place. He still hadn't found out what kind of ritual the mudblood had used to change from a bucktoothed freak to someone able to seduce Krum, the finest student of Durmstrang, a school free of mudbloods. That had ruined the Yule Ball for him, seeing the mudblood like that. And only Skeeter had listened to him, and even she had only speculated about love potions, not the darker rituals he had suspected. As if a mudblood siren as smart as Granger would use easily detectable potions on an international Quidditch star - and Draco knew Durmstrang's headmaster had Krum checked every day for a week after the ball.

Draco knew he could have enjoyed his years in Hogwarts if it had just been Potter. Ignorant, stupid Potter. Easily dealt with, but for his luck. But Potter and the mudblood? Protected by Dumbledore and all the teachers? Draco was proud he had managed to keep his own house pure, under those conditions, with everyone, even Snape, who he thought was supporting him, working against him!

Draco remembered that moment on the astronomy tower, facing Dumbledore. He had been ready to kill the old man, when he suddenly realized how suspicious the whole scene was. He, the scion of the Malfoys, but still a student, killing the Wizard who had beaten Grindelwald? He beating the wizard even the Dark Lord feared? It had to be a trap! So he had hesitated, and then Snape had killed Dumbledore. At the time he had thought that Snape had avoided whatever trap Dumbledore had set, Slytherin cunning beating Gryffindor stupidity as usual. Now… he didn't know anymore what happened there, not with Snape revealed as a traitor.

Draco shook his head. He didn't know how much longer he'd have, how much longer he'd be alive. They had said at 10, but without a wand he could not tell the time. Maybe it was already past that? Maybe the purebloods had finally realized the danger they were in, had banded together and stormed the ministry, killing the mudbloods and blood traitors, freeing the prisoners, saving him from…

He gripped his knees so hard his nails almost dug through his ugly prisoner robe, to keep them from shaking.

A Malfoy doesn't show weakness.

A Malfoy is always in control.

A Malfoy is better.

He'd not give them the satisfaction to see him tremble. He had his pride. He had lost everything else - his wand, his money, his power, his family, but he still had his pride and he'd have it when he faced death. His father had showed the same pride, he knew, when he had faced his death. He hadn't been there - he had been sure the mudblood and Potter would have thrown him into the veil right afterwards, since they wanted to kill all purebloods and he was the most prominent one - but he had read the article, and if the paper said his father had cursed his enemies, but not shown fear, then he was sure his father had actually acted with the utmost dignity, or they'd have printed worse lies.

Draco wiped his brows. He was sweating. They couldn't even keep the cells cool, the mudblood barbarians. The spells must be failing already, magic itself rebelling against the corrupt new masters… He shook his head again. No, he had to keep his calm. They wanted to break him, to humiliate him, to harm their cause. He had to keep calm, and foil their plans.

At least his mother had been spared the indignity of being murdered, she had taken her own life before the scum had broken into their mansion. He was proud of his mother, she had died a pureblood.

Draco once again had to force his thoughts away. If he thought of his mother, he'd… he wiped his eyes, and sobbed. He took a while to regain his composure, and he did it by focusing on his killers. Potter and the mudblood. They'd be there to gloat. To sneer at him, and watch him die. He'd show them!

If only his plan had worked… he had it all planned out. The wedding vows, the magical compulsions, and the torture. Oh, yes, the torture. The mudblood would have been broken when he was done with her, no longer showing up purebloods, and best of all, would not have been able to pollute magic by spawning. And Potter's face, when he saw her with him… all the rage, yet unable to do anything to him since it was all legal. Draco smiled at the fantasy.

Then he ground his teeth. All that wrecked and why? How? Because the mudbloods suddenly showed their true colors, and murdered wizards and witches like rabid animals. Wizards who were still weak from a war caused by the mudbloods. He still couldn't understand why this heinous crime hadn't caused an outrage around the globe, why purebloods were not storming Britain to deal with those beasts. Didn't they see that once the last pureblood in Britain was dead they would be next?

It was all the mudblood's fault. If she had gone quietly, followed the law, then no one would have made a fuss. But no, she had to resist, and cause all of the other mudbloods - the lesser mudbloods, as he thought of them - to go crazy. Yes, it was all her fault. And once again, as with Potter, it was all pure luck, no cunning, no planning. Just luck. Wait… Merlin, he finally knew their secret!

The mudblood and Potter had been drinking Felix Felicis all the time! That explained their insane luck, that explained how they could have beaten him, his father, and the Dark Lord! That explained why his plans didn't work as they should, why he failed when he should have succeeded! How they were made Minister and Chief Warlock. Merlin, it was so simple!

Draco was excited. Wait… Felix Felicis was toxic when taken in large amounts. People tended to be overconfident and showed extreme recklessness… that explained Gryffindors! They must be brewing it in secret in their house. It explained everything, the whole war, the whole school!

Now that he knew this, he could…

His thoughts were interrupted by the door opening. "Your time has come, Malfoy." He gasped, and stared at the four men - mudbloods - entering. They were not even wearing robes, but muggle clothes, he thought while he felt his stomach turn to ice and his heart miss a beat. Merlin, no!

"Wait, you cannot do this, I know what they did!"

His protests were ignored, and his hands were bound on his back as if he was a common criminal. He protested against that too, shaking with anger - anger, not fear - but it only got him roughly shoved out of the cell, causing him to stumble and fall on the floor. Amidst their laughter - the beasts showed their true nature, cruelly treating one of their betters! He managed to focus enough to get up. One almost kicked his legs out from under him, but the leader of the murderers held him back.

"No harming the prisoners. Especially not now."

Draco didn't really notice much of the following walk, he barely heard the "Dead wizard walking" announcement by one of his tormentors. His thoughts raced, hope of a rescue, or a pardon - wasn't Potter the Chief Warlord, and the student of Dumbledore, who always gave second chances? He had saved Potter's life, he deserved it - warring with rage at the injustice of it, both straining the thin shred of control he still had over himself.

I am a pureblood. A noble. A Malfoy.

I am a pureblood. A noble. A Malfoy.

I am a pureblood. A noble. A Malfoy.

He repeated the same sentence. He was the last Malfoy. No, that way lay rage and madness.

I am a pureblood. A noble. A Malfoy.

I am a pureblood. A noble. A Malfoy.

I am a pureblood. A noble. A Malfoy.

When the small group reached the Death Chamber Draco raised his head, wanting to look at his murderers, the mudblood and Potter. He would sneer at them, as his father had, to show them how much lower they were. And he'd expose their secret, their potion addiction. Taunt them with his knowledge. Their own efforts to cover up would undo them. Even in death he'd ruin them! He'd beat them! He ignored Loony and Bell. They did not matter, only the mudblood and Potter mattered.

There they were, standing together, much too closely to be proper. Were they holding hands? Merlin, they were! He knew the mudblood had been shagging Potter, he knew it in their first year even! Mudbloods were like that! Potter's mother had done the same to his father, got her claws into him in their first year, his mother had told him. He sneered at them, then he saw red. Red hair. Weasley! That blood traitor was here too. And he was smirking at him! The blood traitor from the poorest family in Britain, the worst wizard in school, the weakest link in the Gryffindor Trio, a wizard so far beneath him, he was not even worth licking his boots, was smirking at him? Why was he here, didn't they get rid of him?

Draco could stomach Potter and the mudblood being there - especially now that he knew the secret of their success - but Ronald Weasley? Draco's self control, already hanging by a thread, shattered, and as was so often the case, his rage and hatred overcame what wits he had.

"Filthy blood traitor! Mudblood whore! Scarheaded freak! You will all die, you will..."

Draco had planned to expose them then, but found himself silenced. They claimed it was so the executioner could read his sentence out loud without getting interrupted, but Draco knew better. They would not let him speak out of fear! He had failed! He stared at them, trembling with rage and fear, and they stared back at him with… was that pity in the mudblood's eyes? Potter too? They dared to pity him?

Draco began to struggle, cursing them in silence, spit flying from his mouth while he stared at them with madness in his eyes. Two men were holding him by his bound arms, ignoring the desperate but weak kicks he dealt out while his death sentence was once again read out to him. He didn't even notice when the silence spell was finited.

"... and I'll piss on your grave and kill every single one of your family and friends, you mudblood traitor, you blight on our world, you will all ..." would be recorded as Draco's last words - Hermione was still a stickler for precision and correct procedure.

As Draco was pushed forward, towards the Veil, his struggles grew even more frantic, but remained ineffectual. When he saw the arc loom over him, when he heard the whispering voice, felt the soft breeze out of nowhere on his face, Draco started to cry. He wanted to scream, wanted to curse, wanted to beg. He did not want to die, did not want to d...

* * *

The Quibbler special edition with the picture (taken from a pensieve) of a crying Malfoy being thrown into the veil, and the quote "as if he was a sack of shit - well, he was" from Ronald Weasley sold out in record time. Hermione wanted to propose a law that forbid printing pictures of executions, but Harry managed to persuade her that Wizarding Britain was not yet ready for that. Luna's argument that through the sale of such pictures the criminals would at least do something productive for once in their lives, even indirectly, was less well received, if not less honestly stated.

Molly's reaction to her youngest son's choice of words to be printed for all of Wizarding Britain was said to be heard perfectly clear even at the Lovegood's home.


	8. Chapter 8: Is it over?

**Chapter 8: Is it over?**

Luna Lovegood, special reporter and chief editor of the Quibbler, was happy. Those who did not know her well - which were just about everyone in Wizarding Britain - wouldn't have guessed, since she smiled like she usually did, a bit vacantly, with her eyes focusing on something else than everyone else was focusing, but she felt like dancing with joy. She wouldn't, though. If she did, people would stare at her again, and while she was used to that, her few friends would be embarrassed for her, and that she wanted to avoid. She had not many friends, and didn't want to risk any them. Rationally she knew that they wouldn't stop being her friends just because she acted oddly, or was believed to act oddly, but she couldn't help being afraid of being alone again. Terribly afraid.

So, she smiled at Harry and Hermione in the Death Chamber - they called it the execution chamber, but that was silly, one could not change the name of a place of death without the proper ritual, and from what she could see, there had been no proper - and told them about the latest issue of the Quibbler. They had subscriptions to it, of course, and knew the issue already, but talking about something everyone knew already was what one did when meeting like this, Luna had learned that, People did it with the weather all the time. She felt good seeing the two of them together. They did belong together, and it had taken a truly astonishing amount of wrackspurts to keep them apart all those years. Luna wasn't sure, but she suspected someone had been feeding those wrackspurts all those years.

In her school years she had suffered from nargles. Her stuff had gone missing, she had been locked out of the dorms, had been pranked and made fun of. But that had just been the work of nargles influencing weak-minded people. Nargles were not cruel. They were like the fae, different from witches and wizards. So different they might seem cruel, even though they did not intend to be. They were simply curious, and wanted to find out how far they could go. To be angry at them would have been like being angry at the clouds for raining, or the sun for burning one's skin - though she liked to dance in the rain, and lying in the sun.

That was before the war, and before she had been the prisoner of the Malfoys. There had been no nargles at the Malfoys. There had been other… things. She didn't know what they were, her father had never mentioned them and she had not dared to ask after she had encountered them, she did not want to remind him even more of what she had gone through, and what he had almost done to her friends, for her, but they were as different from nargles as a kitten was from a nundu. Where nargles were like children, acting without knowing what they did, those beings knew what they did, and reveled in it. They smelled of cruelty, and blood lust, and were clustered around everyone at the Malfoys, sometimes in swarms so thick Luna hadn't been able to see the faces of the people in the middle. Like Bellatrix. She hadn't really seen the woman, just the things around her, but she'd never forget her voice and laugh.

The others - she was still not sure what they were, she didn't want to invent a name since they had to have a name already, so she called them "others" - were probably breeding there, using the Malfoys and their guests. Nargles did the same, if one child was affected by them, their friends were more prone to attract nargles themselves. Luna's thoughts went off on a tangent, and she had written half an article for the Quibbler in her head about the mating habits of the others before she shook her head to clear it. She would never print that article, it was too personal. It took her back to that time, in the dungeons, in the manor of the Malfoys, when she had learned what cruelty really was, and corruption, and evil. The Malfoys and their guests had taught her.

And today the last of them would leave this world, and take all the others surrounding him with him. That was another thing the war had taught her - the others died with their hosts. Usually at least. Sometimes a few managed to survive, and attached themselves to the killer of their host, but she had learned that she could prevent that, sometimes with a smile, sometimes - strangely - with her pen. Wonderful things, pens. Much easier to handle, use, and transport than quills. And no bird had to lose their feathers to make a pen either! Luna's smile grew wider, and one of the guards glanced at her nervously. She smiled back at him, gently now. The wrackspurts around his head suddenly vanished. Before the war she had needed special lenses to spot them, but after the dungeons, she could see all the creatures clearly now. Ollivander had told her that her eyes had been opened by her experiences - silly, she had always had her eyes open, when she wasn't sleeping.

Yes, Luna knew, that smiles and gentleness would be able to drive the others away as well, but for some people, there were not enough smiles in the world, not even if one used muggle smiles - though muggle smiles didn't work on those people anyway. One could only kill those people to get rid of the others.

Luna had watched almost every execution of the friends of the Malfoys and the death eaters, just to make sure the others vanished with them through the veil. They were weird creatures. One would assume that they would try to escape, seeing the veil, but they often grew even stronger right before the end. She had only seen one person whose others had started to disappear before the veil, that person had begged for forgiveness. Maybe forgiveness hurt the others too? She would have to investigate that, but she didn't know how. There were not many death eaters left, almost all had gone through the veil. Only one she knew of was left, and he'd die today. Draco Malfoy. Most of the others she had seen die were not surrounded by so many others.

Luna nibbled on her pen, pondering this. She absentmindedly greeted Ronald when he entered, head full of wrackspurts. She knew how to deal with those, but Ronald was so wrackspurt-prone, none of the remedies she had tried when they were kids had worked. She cocked her head sideways, studying Ronald and his wrackspurts, when suddenly, they faded and he walked towards Harry and Hermione, with a smile on his face. Luna smiled too. Friends shouldn't be kept apart by wrackspurts. The world was a better place when friends stuck together. She could feel the warmth from Harry and Hermione grow in strength, fueled by Ronald's friendship, and took a deep breath. Friendship, she could almost smell it. Almost. One day she'd be able to, she knew. If only Neville and Ginny were here as well. Luna missed them. She was sure the wrackspurts were still around them.

Then she wrinkled her nose, and shivered - the others were coming, dragged along by Draco, who himself was dragged by the guards. Some of the others were trying to attach themselves to the guards, she knew that. Then she saw Draco, or rather, the cloud of others and wrackspurts around him. Wow! Those dwarfed even Ronald's. Someone must have dunked Draco's head in wrackspurt-attracting lotion, like in school - that was why his hair was so shiny all the time. Probably Ronald - the wrackspurts doubled in number when Draco saw him, and Ronald could have gotten a lotion from his brothers. From his brother.

Luna leaned forward, pen scribbling over her notepad - another wonderful thing muggles had invented - noting down the details without actually realizing it, while Draco, screaming incoherently about his wrackspurts, was pushed through the veil, taking all his others with him. Sadly, Draco had not wet himself. She had been so sure he'd do that. At least he had cried.

It was done. Another swarm of the others gone. She closed her eyes, smiling with relief. A quick check showed a few others floating around, so she took care to smile extra-strongly at the guards, and make sure they were not allowing the others to nest. It would be a shame if Harry and Hermione had to execute one of the guards later, to get rid of more others.

She went over to Harry and Hermione, asking for a quote for the Quibbler. Harry said something about justice being done, not revenge. Very chief warlocky, but not really newsworthy, as her father would have said. Hermione said something too long to be quoted in a wizarding paper, and wanted to make sure Luna would use the fake name of the room. Ronald though had a delightful quote that would fit perfectly in her article.

Her father had taught her that one had to be honest and truthful when writing an article, and polite, but that one had not to be nice unless one wanted to. Luna didn't think she had to be nice to Draco.

* * *

Harry let out his breath when Draco had vanished through the veil. A chapter of his life - a bad chapter, one of the worst - was finished. A small part of him, the part that had been born in a cupboard and raised by gruff and cruel words of his relatives, had not wanted to believe that it would ever be over. Malfoy had escaped justice so often, no matter what he had done, that part of Harry had expected him to escape again. But he had not. That, more than anything else, showed him that the times really had changed. That he and Hermione had been successful. And the little git had gone through the veil crying and screaming. Harry grinned at the memory. Not only because he liked seeing Draco lose it completely and die a coward, but for the propaganda value too. Another example of purebloods failing to uphold their own ideals. No proud, composed death there, just a whiny coward begging for his worthless life.

It wasn't that Draco himself had actually been important. He had just been a symbol of the corruption of the old system. A symptom of the disease of Wizarding Britain. That a wizard that stupid - or, as Hermione would say, in the privacy of their flat, or bed, after a long day, a wizard even more stupid than the average wizard - had been able to come so far had been a crime in itself. Another Hermione quote.

Draco was not only stupid though, but he was evil too. A dangerous combination, but in the real world, such people tended to be stopped by the system. In the old Wizarding Britain, the system had protected them. Malfoy had been able to insult, bully, and attack anyone he wanted, without suffering any consequences from the authorities. Even worse, his victims were usually punished by said authorities. Harry felt anger rise up inside him when he thought of just what Draco had done, and how little had been done about him. If only he had killed the scum bag back in their school years… but he had been a stupid little wizard back then, happy to serve the great wizard Dumbledore and his vision of a stagnant society of inbreds.

Well, he had learned his lesson. Late, but not too late. With the help of Hermione, of course. Who else? He snuck an arm around his lover's waist, and pulled her closer. Being so close to the veil always made him feel cold inside. He could hear the whispers from the veil, more clearly now than before. Before he had had the three hallows. He took a deep breath, inhaling Hermione's scent, feeling her warmth. Death could not touch him with her here.

"Oy! Get a room you two!" Ron interrupted his thoughts, with a grin. He grinned back, not angry at all about the interruption. It felt good to have Ron back. The good Ron, not the jealous immature one. The grown up Ron. All the bravery, courage and recklessness he knew so well and less of the jealousy, insecurity, and stupidity. Hopefully. He wasn't holding his breath, to be honest - people changed, but rarely that completely. And Ron was a pureblood, so he was suffering from the ingrained bias and stupidity of that culture. Still, Ron didn't have to change much to be a good friend once more - no one was perfect. Not even Hermione. His Hermione.

Luna stepped up to them, asking for a quote. Harry was happy to oblige - as Hermione was find to say, words influenced people as much as deeds, and with less costs, usually. "Today we saw justice being done. It was long in coming, but it did come. I can only hope that it will serve as a lesson to others who still cling to their hatred and bigotry, before they too will commit a crime." There, fitting for his position as Chief Warlock. And less provocative than "He finally got what he deserved, far too late.", which was what he was thinking. Hermione stated that "Draco Malfoy thought that he was above the law, untouchable, but did not realize that the law has changed. All are equal before the law now, and we will strive to make sure that this will extend to any law, not just criminal law. This is a new Wizarding Britain, no longer the playground of a few families, with the rest of us their toys and scapegoats. While it saddens me that a young life was ended today, I am glad it was needed before it could end more lives." After a pause, she added "Please make sure that you use the correct name. It's "Execution Chamber", not "Death Chamber", Luna." From the way Luna smiled, and the way she giggled when Ron added his thoughts, Harry was quite sure what exactly would go into the article, and what would not.

He was still a bit uneasy about Luna's reaction to all the death she had seen. She had insisted that she was present at every death eater execution, as reporter for the Quibbler. He would have believed that, if not for that fact that she was so happy about each death. Luna had not cared at all about the bullies from Ravenclaw making her life at Hogwarts hell. And yet the way she relaxed each time one of Voldemort's beasts went through the veil, as if an immense weight had been lifted off her shoulders… Harry couldn't imagine what Luna must have gone through in her time in the dungeons to be so happy about seeing them die, but he knew he would do anything to make sure she'd not suffer anymore. He had failed her once - no, twice, counting the bullying - he'd not fail her again.

He shook off the grim and gloomy thoughts. There were more important things to think about than the end of Draco Malfoy. Far more important things, like friendship, and bravery, and love. He smiled at Ron and Luna, still holding Hermione closely. "So… what do you say, dinner at Grimmauld Place today? I promise I won't let Kreacher or Hermione cook!" That earned him an elbow in his ribs from a pouting Hermione, and laughter from Ron and Luna.

To some, the sight of four young people laughing in the room where just minutes ago a man's life had been ended would have looked weird, even sick. But those four, veterans of one of the bloodiest, most brutal wars of the wizarding world, had become quite familair with death. Too familiar, even, especially in Harry's case.

* * *

Augusta Longbottom put down the Daily Prophet. Draco Malfoy was dead. That upstart french line had ended as it should have a generation ago. If only they had died then. It wouldn't have saved her son and her daughter in law, but her grandson might not have to hide from his former friends in his greenhouse right now. Not that he thought of it as hiding from his friends, at least not out of fear for his life. He, as he had confessed to her, was torn between loyalty to his friends, and loyalty to his culture. Augusta understood that, but, older and more cynical, she felt Neville was too optimistic. Too brave to be safe in this new regime, where old loyalties and deeds apparently did not count anything anymore.

Augusta had opposed that cursed marriage law, which had caused all this. Not because felt it was wrong per se, but she didn't want to risk others meddle in her family's life. She wouldn't want to see Neville married to someone unsuitable. Not that she had anything against muggleborns, of course, but good breeding took more than seven years of Hogwarts. If one wasn't raised right, then one would always be off in good society, and she wasn't sure she'd live long enough to make sure her great-grandchildren would be raised right. Neville certainly wouldn't be able to make sure of it, her grandson was too much like her son, too smitten to say no to anyone he loved.

She sighed. Not that there were many of the good society left. The new regime had been so brutal, and so efficient. Like muggles. Voldemort had been an amateur, using a corrupt and bloated bureaucracy in his crusade against muggleborn, more hindered than helped even by those willing, like that ugly toad, mostly due to sheer incompetence bred by nepotism.

But the new regime was not better, just different. Efficient, yes, but uncouth. And brutal, oh so brutal and bloodthirsty. Executing people for wishing to arrange marriages? A few generations ago, that was the norm, only instead of the ministry or wizengamot, families arranged that. And if they needed a potion or two to help a heir along… family mattered. People understood that. Good people.

But not many of them left. Too many caught up in their own plots, too many grown weak and foolish, too pampered by the system their ancestors had created. Fools all of them. She had been surprised the Weasleys had been smart enough to see the signs, and escape the fate of so many families. Arthur had at least raised one son right, Percy had a promising future ahead of him.

She leaned back, sipping tea her house elf had served. Another change she didn't like - magical oaths to treat a house elf well? Such a proposal would have been grounds enough for a honor duel in her parents' time, as if anyone of good breeding would have been so uncouth as to mistreat a house elf! That upstart girl had not changed at all since the days of her foolish crusade for elves.

To think that Wizarding Britain was now led by two children - and children without any knowledge of the its traditions and customs! How the mighty have fallen, indeed. Augusta blamed the death eaters for all of it. Fools, beasts, who corrupted the honor and tradition of british pureblood culture. Of course what else could have been expected from people so stupid as to follow a muggle-raised half-blood who was trying to act as if he was a pureblood of a good family? A half-blood who ultimately fell to another half-blood, and between the two of them, they managed to drag most of Britains pureblood families to their doom.

If anyone would write a play about that it would be a great tragedy. Not that there had been a wizarding playwright in a century, or a good playwright in… well, even longer. Augusta didn't dwell on that fact, and sipped her tea. Neville wouldn't be coming in for another hour. The old woman sighed. How could she make sure Neville would stay safe until this all blew over? She had been proud when Neville had emerged as a hero, a leader, a true son of the Longbottoms, in the war, but his Gryffindor courage could now spell doom for the family line. She needed to keep him away from politics until they were no longer so deadly.

But Augusta was at a loss just how she could do that. Neville had grown up, he was no longer the child she could order around, and he was too stubborn to be easily guided. A boy- man - who had screamed defiance into the face of Voldemort himself would no longer be cowed by a stern old woman, she knew that.

She could only hope the two upstarts ruling what was left of Wizarding Britain would not kill Neville should he disagree with them. But they had killed Shacklebolt… Augusta was frustrated and afraid, oh so afraid. She didn't cry, it was not proper, but she certainly felt like it.

* * *

In the same evening, in an old office, the latest issue of the Quibbler and the Daily Prophet were lying on a desk. The man at the desk had read them both, thoroughly. Just as he had read all the issues before them, and the reports from other sources, ever since he had heard about the marriage law massacre.

He was the prime minister of the United Kingdom, and he was very pleased about the events still shaking Wizarding Britain to its - in his opinion - rotten core. He was sure all his predecessors would be pleased as well. He leaned back, folding his hands, pondering a plan he had had for some time. It was risky, quite risky, but could he let this opportunity go to waste? He shook his head. The queen agreed with him. They could not let things continue as they had been.


	9. Chapter 9: Politics

**Chapter 9: Politics**

Harry and Hermione had gotten comfortable on the couch in their living room, after another day of pushing Wizarding Britain into the 20th century. They had eaten Winky's latest three-course menu, and changed into more comfortable clothes. Hermione had a book on her lap, and Harry was fiddling around with a prototype from WWW - George recently had started to work seriously again. Hermione wasn't actually reading the book though, and Harry was not actually doing anything but turning the thing around in his hands.

"So… "

"So."

"The Prime Minister asks for a meeting with his esteemed colleague, Minister of Magic Granger." Harry stated.

Hermione nodded. "He wants to talk about the events of the last years. A lot of non-magical people died in the war, a lot of infrastructure got destroyed, and the ministry didn't do anything to stop that."

"I guess neither Fudge nor Scrimgeour, much less Voldemort's puppet ever talked to him much." Harry stated.

Hermione snorted, but it lacked any humor. "Unless Fudge and Scrimgeour somehow changed personalities when talking to him, I fear we can consider ourselves lucky if the Prime Minister is not ready to reinstate the witch hunts."

Harry looked alarmed, so Hermione put a hand on his lower arm. "That was hyperbole. But he certainly has reasons enough to dislike and distrust magicals."

"Purebloods you mean."

"Will he make that distinction? I don't know what he knows about Wizarding Britain. I am sure he knows more than my esteemed predecessor thought. For someone who had been working on the Prime Minister's staff for a while at least, Shackleton was really ignorant, as his files show." Hermione shook her head. "I fear he used obliviate a lot to protect his cover."

Harry nodded. "Yes. He was all about the ends justify the means - but only when it came to non-magicals. Or muggleborns."

Hermione nodded. "He certainly was quick to build alliances with the pureblooded nobility to "rebuild Wizarding Britain, better than before", no matter what they had done in the war, the bastard."

"Language, Hermione!" Harry chided her, jokingly. Both laughed, but grew serious quickly.

"I didn't even contact him after our ... election." Hermione said, looking down at a spot on the floor. "I didn't know that there was a line of communication from the Minister of Magic to the Prime Minister. Fudge was a messenger in that position, under Scrimgeour, but he never mentioned it before his execution. And there was nothing in Shackleton's files." Hermione scowled, then growled. "How that man thought he could lead the ministry is beyond me! His office was so disorganized, he filed nothing, but expected reports from everyone - reports he then lost in his own office!" The woman growled, and Harry pulled her into his lap before she could start a rant at the late minister's hypocrisy.

"Well… we didn't interrogate Fudge about his work, only about his crimes. And that focused on his time as minister, and then on his work for the rape law faction. Did Percy know anything about the meetings with the Prime Minister?"

"He found notes from past meetings. I guess the archivar would have known more, but since she had been searching the archives for muggleborn records for Voldemort…" Hermione trailed off.

Harry nodded. That had been a death sentence, once they had taken over. All the pureblood ministry employees who had happily helped mass murdering muggleborns had been in for a rude awakening, after the storming of the ministry, when veritaserum had exposed their past lies. He frowned, remembering how he had thrown the fact that most employees of his ministry had been happy to help commit mass murder in Shacklebolt's face - and how veritaserum had revealed that the man had known that all along, but had decided to accept any excuse, just so he could keep them. And he hadn't even been deluding himself about redemption, or wanted to avoid killing people, no. All he wanted was to keep the ministry running smoothly, and to keep the Wizengamot happy. He really had not cared about past crimes, as long as he wasn't affected himself. And the marriage law would have served both his aims - happy Wizengamot members, and more couples busy raising kids, and not raising questions about justice.

Harry grinned maliciously, remembering how shocked Shacklebolt had been when he was sentenced to death. He had still been reeling, stammering, when he had been pushed through the veil.

Harry's thoughts were interrupted by Hermione slapping his arm. "Harry! Focus! We have to plan this meeting. It's embarrassing that I didn't inform him when I took over as minister, to explain that it happened because we had all the people in the know executed too quickly to find out about it… they do not have the death penalty in Great Britain, not anymore."

"Are we part of the United Kingdom?"

Hermione bit her lower lip, a gesture that made her look like the teenager she had been until a bit ago, and not the woman who had engineered a coup d'etat in Wizarding Britain. Harry pulled her closer, and rested his chin on her shoulder. The love of his life.

"It's murky. No, it's confusing, and not clear at all. The Wizengamot was granted the right to self-government with the statute of secrecy, but no treaty ever granted them sovereignty. But there has been no factual control by the crown or any prime minister ever since the treaty, and the relationship was closer to two sovereign governments - when they were not ignoring each other. On the other hand, almost all muggleborns are british citizens, and quite a number of halfbloods are either citizens, or could qualify for citizenship, having lived in the United Kingdom all their life. The land the magicals claim - Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, several country estates - have never been officially ceded to them by the crown, but one could make an argument analogue to squatter rights - no royal government tried to exert power over those areas in centuries. But then, obliviation, anti-muggle wards and other magic was used to hide them from normal people, so they couldn't have known about those areas. That could be treated as a crime, or even an invasion. And we haven't even touched taxes. Income taxes are relatively simple. Income in galleons is subject to taxes by the ministry of magic, income in pounds is taxed by the crown. But other taxes, or duties… And when it comes to criminal law, things are really bad. Crimes by magicals against normal people generally were not persecuted, unless it was politically expedient. The victims, if still alive, were obliviated, and some "Muggle-worthy excuse" was concocted so no one thought there had been a crime in the first place. Even the muggle protection act didn't change that. And the Wizengaot ignored just about all laws and principles of a fair trial." Hermine was grinding her teeth at the injustice of it, and Harry calmed her down by planting a few tender kisses on her neck. After a deep breath, she continued. "So… we are meeting the prime minister, and we have no idea if we legally are a regional government with some autonomy, a part of the Royal government out of control for centuries, a dominion like Canada was, or a foreign power that just happens to share most of its territory with the United Kingdom. And we don't know what the Prime Minister believes we are."

Harry, as often was the case, cut to the heart of the matter. "What do we want to be?"

"I don't know. It is likely one if not the most important decision we have to make, and I don't know." Hermione sighed, but her mind was already going through the arguments. "As a foreign nation we'd be sovereign, but we would have to solve so many problems with regards to the treatment of citizens, dual citizenship, taxes, land ownership, liabilities for infractions - the obliviators alone will be a really sore topic - and other things, we'd be negotiating treaties for years. And we'd be quite vulnerable too, even if we were sovereign, with all the relatives of muggleborns being british citizens, and living in the United Kingdom. Not to mention enforcing the statute of secrecy and other ICW regulations could be seen as a hostile act from a foreign nation by the United Kingdom.

"But we cannot simply assume the ministry is a part of her Majesty's government. We cannot comply with most of the regulations for the government without violating our obligations to the ICW. And most of the British laws need a lot of adjustments to fit the Magical World." Hermione sighed again. Harry didn't quite grin - his love had been so sure that she could rebuild Wizarding Britain using Great Britain's laws as a blueprint, but just about everything turned out to be more complicated than one would have thought.

Hermione growled again. She would have liked seeing Wizarding Britain as a part of the United Kingdom, ultimately under the rule of the democratically elected government of her Majesty - all normal people. It would have been the ultimate insult in the face of the purebloods. "I think it's best we strive for a regional autonomy, or a dominion-like status. That way, our treaties bind the United Kingdom too, somewhat, and we don't push the issue."

Harry coughed, but didn't say anything. Hermione narrowed her eyes, turned her head and looked at him. She knew that expression. "What?"

Harry hesitated, but another glare made him talk. "Do we have to settle the legal issues? We could leave it in limbo, where it has been for centuries, and focus on the, ah, practical issue." He smiled at Hermione.

Hermione scoffed. The idea of not solving a problem, of not clearing up an unclear issue, offended her deeply. She liked her country like her life - organized, orderly, and clear. And yet, she had had to learn that sometimes, not the most logical or elegant, but the most practical way was the best choice. Sometimes.

"That may be a good course of action." She ground the words out, and Harry started to run his hands over her shoulders, massaging them.

"And what are the most pressing issues?" Harry asked. He knew a number himself, but Hermione had a list, in her head, if not on paper. She always had a list or three.

"Mundane-Magical relations, especially with regards to criminals and the education of muggleborn. The statute of secrecy and its enforcement. Squibs. Magical species and their status and needs - and the effects of pollution. Liability for past transgressions by magicals."

"Do you think the Prime Minister will bring that up?"

"Even if he doesn't, it's our responsibility. There might be dozens, hundreds of traumatized people out there, victims of magic, obliviated, and denied justice." Hermione was passionate about that, Harry knew. Probably caused to a considerable degree by her own guilt about her treatment of her parents, not that he'd mention that."

"True. And it bringing it up ourselves should earn us some goodwill. Unless it's seen as a weakness." He added that with a frown. He did not trust politicians, not after Fudge, Scrimgeour, and Dumbledore, but he didn't know much about the Prime Minister. The Dursleys had complained a lot about his policies, but then Vernon Dursley had complained about everything.

Hermione scoffed - she was still a bit more idealistic than Harry. "So, we ignore the legal status of Wizarding Britain, and focus on the most pressing issues. Unless of course he presses the question about our status."

"Hopefully he'll not raise that question."

"When did a politician ever not disappoint our hopes?"

"There's always a first time for everything."

Hermione turned around in his lap, and kissed him. The rest of the evening and for most of the night, politics took a backseat to passion and love.

* * *

Three days later, the Prime Minister was waiting for the Minister of Magic and the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot in his office. His new office, to be precise, free of magical paintings and magical chimneys. the old office was currently "under renovation", as far as the press and most of his staff was concerned. A number of sketches and caricatures making fun of him having to move out from a leaky office were a small price to pay for an office wizards could not walk in as they pleased. He glanced at the two bodyguards standing in the corners. Another change. Some of his staff wondered why he had picked a number of new bodyguards, some of them not as extensively trained as his usual security detail, but those and the two hidden behind the fake paneling were all squibs - children born to magical parents without magic themselves. Or, to be more precise, without enough magic to wield a wand. They were still magical enough to use a variety of magic items, and could spot a lot of magic. He didn't expect trouble from his visitors, but if they tried anything, he'd be ready.

His secretary announced that "Mister Potter and Miss Granger" had arrived. She wasn't informed about the magical world, so she likely was wondering who those visitors were, but the minister couldn't risk spreading knowledge too far. Not yet, in any case.

When the two mentioned entered, the Prime Minister barely could conceal his surprise. he had, intellectually, known they were young, but to meet them… they really were, as one of his advisors had stated, "a teenage couple fresh out of school". Then he met their eyes - briefly, he knew how they could read minds if one stared in their eyes - and had to correct himself. Those eyes were not those of school kids, they were far too old for their age. They had the eyes of war veterans.

Still, just because they had seen the elephant didn't make them experienced politicians. After all, plenty of young soldiers went to war, just a few years ago the United Kingdom had taken part in the Gulf War. And while the public and the press might see it as a walk in the park due to the briefness of the war, and the casualty figures, anyone who had been there knew that it hadn't been a picnic. And neither looked awed at being in his presence. For all his rather middle class upbringing, according to his files, Harry Potter looked around as if he was a third bodyguard, looking for threats and meeting his eyes evenly, and Hermione Granger looked cool and composed. But then, her family had been of a better class. Not nobility, but well-off and educated.

He invited them to take a seat, and glanced at their two bodyguards. Dean Thomas, a wizard according to his files, muggle raised, and Robert Smith, a wizard, though information about his life was rather sketchy. He had been involved in a few violent incidents on foreign shores, according to his file. Mercenary. The minister briefly wondered if the two young people knew about that, or if Smith had his own reasons. Something to look into, but not now.

After exchanging a few pleasantries about the weather, of all topics, and after some refreshments had been offered and accepted - everyone chose to overlook the quick wandwork that was without a doubt a check for poison - they started to discuss matters of importance.

"First, let me congratulate you on your elections. I was, sadly, informed rather late about this event, or I'd have done so right after your election." He smiled politely, but checked their reaction. No blustering, no arrogance like from that Fudge fellow. Though Granger had pursed her lips for a moment, and had that been a bit of color on her cheek?

"That is entirely our fault, Prime Minister. Due to the circumstances of our election, we were not informed of the customary introduction." The girl - he had trouble thinking of her as a woman - stated. "Most of the ministry employees were tried and executed for crimes against humanity, as was most of the Wizengamot and the minister himself, so there was no one available to allow a smooth transition of power."

Now he had to suppress the urge to gape. He had known there had been executions, but that many? And the girl was talking in the same tone she had talked about the weather. Cool and composed.

"Crimes against humanity?"

Granger proceeded to list - without any help of a note that he could see - the charges against the minister and his staff. Genocide, murder, mass murder, kidnapping, torture, rape, conspiracy to all that, and that were just the highlights. The Chief Warlock had to interrupt her before she could list the minor crimes - that woman was smart, far smarter than any of the other ministers of magic he had had the displeasure to know.

"So, after the tribunals ended most of our establishment was executed, or had fled. As you can see, we have had our hands full reorganizing the ministry."

"I see." And he did. It had not been a coup d'etat, more like a civil war, from the death toll. Though he didn't really feel bad about it - quite the contrary. He had not forgotten how humiliating his treatment by Fudge and Scrimgeour had been. And his dismissive they had been of his people and the deaths their criminals caused.

He nodded, and listened while Minister Granger explained what had been done so far in reforming Wizarding Britain. Part of him liked what he heard - reforms in the line with the United Kingdom's laws and customs. For all their youth, the two seemed skilled leaders. Provided they were not lying - but his information backed them up. But part of him was not happy at seeing, hearing two competent wizards in charge of the magicals. Skilled, smart leaders with magic powers were dangerous - far more dangerous than Fudge and his ilk had been.

He had to revise his plans to take over Wizarding Britain, and bring it back under the control of her Majesty's Government. But then - they had lost most of their upper class, and almost all of their bureaucracy. The two leaders were not as dumb as the usual wizard, but still too young to have any experience in politics. They were weak, and vulnerable, and as far as he could tell, more fond of the United Kingdom than the Wizengamot. He smiled. It wouldn't be as easy as he had hoped, but he'd see this rebellious province brought to heel.


	10. Chapter 10: A Brewing Storm

**Chapter 10: A Brewing Storm**

Daniel Jones suppressed a yawn and pinched his thigh, hidden under the desk he was sitting at, to keep himself awake. He was sitting in the third row in the small classroom, listening to an instructor go on about proper police procedures to secure evidence. At least he knew now why the tv shows always skipped that part - it was boring. Of course he understood how important it was to catch criminals, and how a single mistake could mean a case would never get solved, at least not without magical means. It was still a lesson more boring than Magic History ever had been. At least the goblin wars had had some action, if one read the books. And if not one could sleep there, and miss nothing. He wished, not for the first time, the instructor would add examples from the field to his lesson. Or that he could use a dictapen, instead of taking notes by hand. Sometimes he could curse the Statute of Secrecy… especially when everyone treated him as a cadet from a backwater town, and not as the Magical Law Enforcement officer he was. Granted, he hadn't been an MLE officer that long, only since the Revolution, but he had done good work since then, caught a fleeing pureblood purist by himself on his first day, before they even had the correct uniforms. If he heard the term "wait until you start working… if you make the cut" one more time…

Sighing, Daniel took more notes. For all his - silent - whining, he was a dutiful officer. That's why he had been selected for this assignment, after all. The Magical Law Enforcement Division needed people who could pass for police officers, and could work with them, and knew what they had to offer. And - as the rumor went, Minister Granger had personally added that to the mission goal - could work on creating magical equivalents. But the main goal was to prevent criminals from abusing the divide between the magical and the non-magical. As an investigation following a few statements under veritaserum during the Tribunals had shown, far too many magicals had been very apt at committing crimes in the non-magical world and using magic to hide any evidence of it - often helped along by ministry policies. Daniel's face grew hard. He knew what kind of sick crimes had been covered up by obliviators, all in the name of keeping magic a secret and their pockets full. As long as non-magical people were the victims, the ministry had not cared at all. But they had paid, all of them. With their lives. And once he had finished his courses here, he'd do his best to make sure it would not happen again.

A faint smile appeared on his face. Not so long ago he had been just another muggleborn who had been refused entrance into the auror corps despite his grades surpassing five purebloods, and who had been looking at either getting a menial job in a shop, or return to the normal world as a drop out without any skills. And now he had returned to the normal world as a full-fledged law enforcement officer, and one who could make a difference. And he was not the only one. A friend and former yearmate of his, Jennifer-Anne Wilkinson, was taking lessons in criminology. Jerome the class clown - though not on par with the Weasley twins - was learning how to handle police dogs. Daniel focused on taking notes again. he didn't want to think about the rest of his yearmates. All dead, either killed by death eaters or executed as death eaters.

* * *

Albert Nott closed the door behind him and threw his suitcase on his couch before removing his tie, cursing the small strip of fabric. Just his luck - Wizarding Britain decided to join the 20th century, dropped robes and pointed hats, but replaced them with suits and ties. Ready-made nooses, in his opinion.

He grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat down in front of the tv, his take-out food on the small table, the smell of curry filling the room. Another day spent in Magical Britain, a place he hadn't wanted to return to, ever, once he understood just what fate he had escaped when he was 11 and his Hogwarts letter had not appeared. His father would have killed him, he knew. Had planned to, even, but then the Dark Lord had been defeated, and his father couldn't risk a dead squib son while people were still wondering if the Imperius defence would hold. So he had been dropped off at a muggle orphanage, one "used to dealing with squibs". He snorted, remembering - yes, they were used to dealing with kids who had no clue about the muggle world, and no ties to the magical world anymore. had been dealing with them in the same way for generations - by shoving them into the army, so they didn't need much of an education, and would get killed in some backwater colonial skirmish.

Well, Great Britain had mostly ran out of such colonies. He had missed the Falklands, but had taken part in the the Gulf War. As a ground pounder, and not one in the special forces, he hadn't seen much action though. But he had been accepted, had his place, his life. No wife, but then, he had been young still. Still was, he reminded himself. And a wife meant kids, and kids meant possible wizards. Could he stomach having a son who could cast spells, while he couldn't, would never be able to? He shoved the thought away, returning to the past.

And then the Dark Lord had returned. He remembered the times, reading the newspapers. Realizing what was happening. Getting a prophet in the Leaky Cauldron whenever he was in london - which was not often the case. Wondering what was happening. Wondering about his family, his cousin Theo, wondering if one of them would show up at his door, ready to "restore family honor". And then the war had ended, and the stupid wizards had celebrated openly again.

He had finished his meal, and pulled up some paper for the report to his handler. Officially, he was taking part in some exchange of information with the Ministry of Magic, to create lines of communications in case there was a need for close coordination, one day. Unofficially, but with the blessing of the government, he was to gather information about the new regime, especially its weaknesses. To him, raised in a scheming pureblood household, it looked like someone on the muggle side was preparing for a coup. It suited him fine - he was not fond of any wizard, muggleborn or pureblood. Purebloods wanted him dead, muggleborns had gotten what he had wanted, had needed, just out of pure luck. Not that he had seen many hidden weaknesses so far, they mostly lacked numbers, but what they had were decently organized. A number of them had muggle military training even, obvious to him in how they spoke and acted.

He paused in describing the structure of the fast response teams of the MLED and glanced at his suitcase. Maybe he should reconsider his indifference, seeing as he was the legal heir of the Nott family now. He had a stake in the magical world now. But he didn't know, yet, which side would serve his interest best, so he'd play a waiting game. He snorted at the irony - for all his hatred for his family, he would have fitted into Slytherin just fine.

* * *

Ron was happy. Tired, exhausted, but happy. For the first time in his life, he had found something he liked more than Quidditch. Well, Quidditch and food, and girls, of course. His mother would be angry, once she'd find out, his father would be intrigued, and his brothers confused. But he liked learning how to really fight more than Quidditch. And he was better at it too. Not that he was bad at Quidditch, mind you. But he was really good at combat and tactics. Really, really good.

He wasn't the best wizard. He was no slouch with his wand, but he hadn't the skill of Hermione, or the raw power and instincts of Harry. But damn, he was good at fighting, muggle style. Real fighting, not the brawling most wizards thought of when they heard the word. Muggles had the thing down to a science, or an artform. And he was loving learning it. Despite the work involved. If Hermione could see him, reading ahead of the class - well, course. It wasn't a class. Just some special lessons by some experienced soldiers and instructors. And physical training. And exercises. And shooting. Sorry, marksmanship. He loved it. And he got better at it each day. And in better shape too, if he said so himself. He thanked Oliver Wood again. If not for his crazy training schedule, which his successors had kept up, he'd not be able to survive the physical part. Well, he'd survive, but be in much more pain. He'd still love it, though - shooting was just so much fun!

The only thing more fun than shooting was leading. He loved directing an exercise, positioning soldiers, planning and executing a battle. It was like chess, only much better. More vicious, more exciting, more alive. No rules to hold him back. Any limit was a challenge to overcome. And most of all, no silly rules like "no lethal spells". Muggle fighting was all about killing the enemy before they killed you. He was fine with that.

Sometimes he thought his wand was useless, given just how far those rifles could reach, and how fast they could spit out bullets that tore through most shield spells. Not through Harry's, of course, or Hermione's, and his own would stand up to fire as well, but most wizards couldn't cast a protego that could hold up to a 7.6 mm full metal jacket bullet fired from a battle rifle at a range closer than 100 meters. And sustained fire went through eventually, or made the shield collapse. That had been a discovery everyone had been talking about, even the muggles. Especially the muggles. Ron had loved teaching his teachers a thing or two, it had felt good to show them what he could do. And he had gotten to see and shoot more firearms. After hearing about machine guns - heavy machine guns! He couldn't wait for that lesson! - Ron could understand his father's love for muggle things.

Though he also understood that his father never really saw how frighteningly effective muggles were at what they did. Especially at fighting. His dad still had the "for non-magicals, they do well" attitude so many wizards shared, but Ron wasn't sure even an Auror Squad, if they still existed, would fare well against the lads that were teaching him and his mates. Throw up some anti-apparition wards, and some way to block or spot invisibility, and it wouldn't even be a contest.

Ron blinked, then pulled out a notebook. He had finally started to use them, after being told that he couldn't use parchment and quills or damage his cover, not that there was much of a cover, his instructors were all squibs, married to squibs, or had family members who were muggleborns. It had galled him to admit it to Hermione (and the girl had not let him forget it since) but she had been right, they were more handy than what he was used to. He made a few notes about possible combined arms tactics.

If a wizard focused on neutralizing apparition and countering disillusion spells, then muggle soldiers could beat enemy wizards easily. Maybe some way to mark invisible targets with colored markers that floated above them. A copy of the charm on Moody's eye should see through most invisibility devices. Combine them, somehow, and it would be a shooting gallery. That left the anti-muggle wards though. One would need a way to break those quickly, or a whole squad would suddenly break off and return to base. On the other hand, those wards had a pitiful range, compared to rifles, much less artillery. Maybe a wizard spotter got close, concealed himself, and used spells that marked a target so only muggles using infrared goggles could see it, leaving the soldiers to kill from further away...

Ron chewed on a sandwich - another good thing: No one was commenting on his appetite here - and wrote down a few more thoughts, before closing the notebook and picking up a book from his shelf. He had to finish a paper on small unit tactics in the Vietnam War.

* * *

Antoine Malfoy - of the French Malfoys, not the English branch, not that there was an English branch anymore these days - the representant of Magical France to the International Confederation of Wizards, schooled his features. He almost looked bored, despite his tension. This was an important moment, possibly the most important moment of his time at the ICW. The delegate from Wizarding Britain, Alphard Stanford, was about to speak. Antoine sneered internally. Technically, he was the former delegate - his own ministry had recalled him, on the grounds of his actions during the Second Blood War, what the English called that insurrection by the half-blood upstart Riddle. Of course Stanford, who had had some quite damning views of mudbloods, as Antoine had found out at a late dinner with lots of his best wine, had not returned, and had sought asylum, on the grounds of being persecuted for his pureblood status. That had made some waves in the usually quiet institution - also because no one was sure if the ICW could even grant asylum. But nothing came of it - not surprisingly, the british mudbloods didn't understand how important the ICW was, and had not made more of a fuss. Again, not surprisingly, since they were not just mudbloods, but english mudbloods. Even the Germans and the Russians had more brains than those.

While Stanford was going on about the evils of the mudblood regime in Britain and their crimes against pureblood maidens, Malfoy glanced around. It wasn't important, other than to drum up sympathy in the press. Stanford should know that, one of his predecessors had tried to drum up support for the fight against Riddle with similar arguments, without any success. None of the american delegates cared a bit about the fates of the english. The Different North American States were still more concerned about the slavery issue. Even after two civil wars they hadn't settled that yet. Malfoy himself was, of course, all for the enslavement of mudbloods, but it wouldn't do to voice that - not with France doing so well by staying neutral in that currently cold conflict. Wizards had long memories, and the North American Wizards never forgot who had helped them win their independence from England, even if they had forgotten that originally, they had seceded because Wizarding Britain - in a fit of typical English foolishness that had, sadly, infected most of the rest of Europe back then - had banned slavery. Of course, the shamans of the Native American Magical Nations wouldn't get involved in anything at all that didn't directly concern them, and they had their hands full in keeping the conflict between the American Magical States alive, so they couldn't unite and clear up some of the old issues between them and the shamans, permanently. There was a reason there were no native american magical nations left east of the Mississippi.

South and Central Americas were in a similar state, though not over slavery - none of them ever gave that up - but struggled for control over the magical nexi the different Magical Conquistadores had taken from the Aztec, Mayan and Incan wizards they had murdered. He glanced over at the representative of Magical Spain. A non-entity too, Magical Spain had lost most of its wizards to the Americas due to the Inquisition - only Italy's wizards had suffered worse, and without a conveniently depopulated magical continent to move to - and Spain's ministry was now mainly trying to make sure the ever-present idea of Reconquista, meaning, the return of the motherland into the fold of the True Magical Spain in Exile, was not becoming a reality.

Asia too, was mostly occupied with their internal struggles, between India, China and Japan, and no one had ever offered the Australians membership. Antoine still had to shake his head at the foolishness of the english wizards, trying to colonize that continent. Africa… well, there was no Magical Africa, apart from Northern Africa, which was nominally under the rule of the Caliph, or whatever faction in his harem was trying to rule. Not any more, not since those foolish primitive tribes had tried to use magic to throw out the muggle colonialists. The ICW was usually quite slow to move - unless the Statute of Secrecy was threatened like that. After the fatal fate of the magical tribes in Africa no one had tried to follow their example. Not even Grindelwald had threatened the Statute of Secrecy.

Antoine grinned. And the Great Punishing Expedition also had netted Magical France, Prussia, Russia and, sadly, England, vast amounts of suddenly unpopulated magical areas. Some were even nominally independent now. Part of his own family's wealth had come from looting the fabled City of Gold. It had gone a long way to refill their coffers after the theft by the English Branch. Privately, Antoine and his family had cheered when he heard of their executions, at last a good thing to come from the English, but officially of course they were appalled by the murder of their family. Their anger had turned real, of course, when the mudbloods had confiscated the estate of the Malfoys, and not returned the wealth to the French Branch.

Stanford still hadn't finished, even though no one but the press was listening. Not even the Supreme Mugwump. Antoine glanced at Herbert Steiner, the Prussian representative. Prussia had been the heart of Grindelwald's realm, and its muggleborns and half-bloods the core of his forces. The Bavarians had been, at best, followers, and the rest of the German states didn't really matter, their mudbloods and half-bloods had flocked to Grindelwald, promising them equal rights and a place under the sun, before throwing them at the Russian Wizards, where they bled, and then at France, where they died. Antoine had toasted Dumbledore's death. That english bastard had stolen France's triumph. French wizards, admittedly with help from the infamous Russian War Wizards, had stopped Grindelwald, had turned the tide, been ready to invade Germany, and then some upstart English teacher arrives, and defeats his old friend Grindelwald, and everyone hails him as the saviour? Antoine had lost two uncles and three grandfathers in that war, and his family had lost three mansions and one estate.

At least Prussia had been too scared to suffer another "Punishing Expedition", now that their Dark Lord had been defeated, and had been too happy to demonstrate they had learned their lesson, toting the ICW line better than anyone else. Unless things changed drastically - and he knew none of the purebloods in Prussia had changed - they'd not follow his lead. Magical Russia of course, represented by Igor Romanov, had been behind the mission from the start. And where Magical Russia went, Eastern Europe followed - willingly or not. At the same time, the scandinavians would keep their distance from anything Russia was involved in, but then, the times of Viking Berserkers were long past. No, this day would see France and Russia show the world why purebloods ruled.

Stanford had finally finished, to weak applause mostly from relief it was over, and Antoine stood up to take his place. The fool still hadn't realized that no one here really cared about the fate of british purebloods so weak and stupid, they had let mudbloods take over. No, there was only one thing that could move the ICW to act - or at least to let nations with more spine and esprit act - and that was the Statute of Secrecy. Antoine, who would have gladly invented a threat to the statute - one could not let mudbloods inspire more mudbloods, Grindelwald had shown how dangerous those beasts were -, could still hardly believe that that english scum actually was about to break the statute. They were training muggles in magical combat, even, instead of obliviating the animals!

"My fellow wizards..:" he began, his voice dripping with concern and sincerity, "... we face a threat unheard of since the time of the Great Punishing Expedition. Those muggleborn who have taken over Wizarding Britain not only persecute and murder pureblood wizards in an attempt to stamp out our traditions, no, they are recruiting muggles for their goals! They are training muggles to fight wizards! Not even Grindelwald went that far, for all his evil deeds!"

At his silent prompt, his aide and nephew cast a spell and wizarding pictures showing muggles - or mudbloods, he didn't care, they showed no wands - in muggle uniforms patrolling Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade and arresting students in Hogwarts. A pensieve was a wonderful way to capture pictures of events one could not openly take pictures at, worth every galleon he had paid for it.

Murmurs rose - mostly from the european representatives though. It seemed the asians were not that concerned, though the Americans were somewhat livelier now. Antoine was fine with that. All he needed was the official mandate to deal with this threat, the rest France and Russia and their allies and vassals could do alone. Could do better alone, even - more spoils for everyone that way. After Riddle's uprising and the murder of the purebloods, the mudbloods were too few and too weak anyway, to oppose two great nations whose wizards had been in a real wizard war, against a real Dark Lord, not some half-blood pretender and the weak fools who followed him without realizing that he was not even a pureblood, much less a lord.

To his anger, Prussia opposed his plan, and managed to get enough votes to change his proposed mandate from countering a threat to the statute of secrecy to investigating a possible threat to the Statute of Secrecy. Antoine glared at the Prussian delegate. It was a minor obstacle, the mudbloods were about to break the statute, and decisive action would be needed quickly, but if Prussia had finally grown a spine again… that could be trouble in the future.


	11. Chapter 11: War

**Chapter 11: War**

Hermione was still frowning when she and Harry entered the atrium of the Ministry, on the way home. "I've got work to do! I have to prepare our reply to that query from the ICW about a possible breach of the statute of secrecy."

"That's not urgent. They were still debating whether or not Voldemort was back when we beat him at Hogwarts." Harry sounded confident and dismissive at the same time. The ICW hadn't impressed either of them, back during the war against Voldemort. Even with Dumbledore at the helm - or maybe because of it, Harry privately thought the man probably had called too many leaders "my boy" - it hadn't taken any action, claiming its mandate didn't cover meddling in "internal matters of a member state".

Hermione was not convinced. "It did sound urgent. Breaches of the statute are about the only thing the ICW takes seriously."

"They certainly take it more seriously than an extradition request concerning a murderer." Harry answered.

"Suspected, Harry." Hermione corrected as they were entering the ministry's atrium. "Until his conviction he's a suspect."

"Given what we know from witnesses and his fellow pureblood bigots, he most certainly helped draft the laws that sent muggleborns to Azkaban. That makes him a murderer."

"Not exactly, Harry. It's…"

Whatever Hermione had wanted to say was cut off by the sudden arrival of two dozen people by portkey in the international area.

"Weren't those warded?" Harry asked, frowning, his wand slipping into his hand from his wrist-holster without a conscious thought. They were a bit away from the arrival area, and none looked like one of the few missing pureblood purists, but there were charms and potions to mask.

"They are. Only diplomatic portkeys can get through, and those… Merlin! That must be the ICW." Hermione had her wand in hand as well - at least they didn't shoot spells at any surprising sound anymore, that had been a bad time after the Battle of Hogwarts - and glared at him. "See? It was urgent!" She quickly cast a charm on herself, straightening her hair and clothes out.

"You'd have wasted the time writing anything anyway, seeing as they are here now. It would maybe be a bit of a snub if you kept communicating by letters despite them coming here." Harry grinned. He was a bit annoyed though - he had planned a nice private dinner for the two of them, with a new recipe that their house elf had finally perfected. Ah, well, stasis charms would save it. He grinned even more when he saw that Hermione's hair was already escaping her charm.

By the time they had reached the arrival area of for the diplomatic portkeys he had schooled his features, any trace of mirth - and romance - gone. It wasn't difficult, from what they could see and hear, the delegation leader was loudly demanding that Mister Potter and Miss Granger were to arrive at once. Both he and Hermione had their wands hidden up their sleeves wouldn't do to make a bad first impression.

Harry looked the man over. Young - almost as young as Harry and Hermione. Younger, if one counted experiences, Harry decided. Blond, though not Malfoy blond, with a pretty face that vaguely reminded him of Cedric Diggory, but a sneer worthy of Draco Malfoy at his worst. Harry pegged him as another puffed-up pureblood idiot. Most of the rest of delegation - two dozen - looked similar, if just a shade less arrogant. Still worse than Malfoy, a feat Harry wouldn't have thought possible. They were had robes that cost a fortune, and every possible cosmetic charm in place, but that asn't to say they were inept. They knew enough not to not block each others line of sight and kept an eye on everyone in range inside the atrium. Still, no one seemed to be concerned about the disillusioned two people up on the first floor balcony at the other end of the hall - too far away for spellcasting. Almost point-blank range for a rifle though. So, purebloods. Two looked older, but it was clear those were not in charge. Not arrogant enough.

Harry's estimate hadn't taken more than a few seconds, covered by Hermione - whose analytical mind probably had seen a lot of things and clues he had missed, though likely nothing that directly concerned combat, he didn't tend to miss anything in that area - introducing herself and Harry.

"I am Minister Granger. This is Chief Warlock Potter. May I inquire your name and the purpose of your visit? I was not aware of any scheduled visit by a diplomat." Hermione's voice was blandly polite, though Harry - and Dean and Robert, who had taken up positions slightly behind and to the side of them - certainly picked up the trace of annoyance in it. Hermione's tolerance for anyone or anything that messed up her carefully planned schedule hadn't exactly grown since her school days. Harry counted himself lucky to be the only one who could drag her away from work without repercussions.

The young man drew himself up to his considerable height, and all but sneered down at them, the picture of a pureblood noble. "I am Louis d'Orléans." he stated, with a heavy french accent. Harry knew who the d'Orléans were - the royal family of Magical France. As Hermione had explained once, not that he recalled all of it, Magical France was a duchy, not a kingdom, since the french kings wouldn't have tolerated another kingdom on their soil before the statute of secrecy. But for all that mattered, this was the dauphin - the eldest son of the ruler of Magical France.

Louis glanced at them, probably to see if they were impressed, and continued. "And I am here to take control of the British Ministry for the duration of the ICW Investigation." He held out his hand and one of his flunkies - probably a school friend of his, he looked the same age - handed him a rolled up parchment. He unrolled it and continued, unaware of the impact of his declaration on the british present. "This is the resolution of the ICW."

Harry wasn't an expert in international magical law. No one present among the british was - they had shoved their last expert through the veil for his actions in the courts during Voldemort's reign. He did know his fellow british wizards well though. No matter how legal this resolution might be, the british muggleborn wizards would not submit to purebloods ever again, no matter their origin. He also realized that this was not an oversized honor guard for a diplomat, this was an undersized occupation force. He hoped they were smart enough to realize just how undersized they were, and wouldn't actually try anything violent.

Hermione met Louis' eyes, seemingly ignoring the parchment. Harry saw her shift her weight just a bit, getting ready to dodge in case that parchment was a portkey. He also saw anger at such defiance flicker over the pretty face of the prince. Hermione's voice was steady and full of determination when she answered him. "We will uphold our duties towards the statute of secrecy. But under no circumstances will we hand over control of our country to you or anyone else from the ICW." With a polite, though just a tiny bit insulting smile she continued "We will of course have the MLED investigate your claim of a breach of the statute of secrecy once we know what you are talking about."

The french prince's eyes narrowed in anger. He threw the parchment to the flunkie next to him and drew his wand. "You are un..."

Whatever he wanted to say was cut off by an overpowered expelliarmus from Harry Potter. Technically a non-lethal spell, it threw the dauphin of Magical France 15 meters back, bowling over two of his friends before he slammed into the wall with a sickening crack. At the time, Harry wasn't thinking of anything but making sure Hermione and the rest of his friends were safe. Much later historians would refer to as the opening shot or spell of the Revolutionary War.

* * *

A mudblood had dared to strike at their dauphin! Wands shot out of tailored duellist holsters into eager hands.

They were the flower of the french magical nobility, the dauphin's chosen companions, as they had been called at Beauxbaton, and their best friends. They might have looked like they spent more time on cosmetic charms than combat training, despite their age few were those who would match them in the duelling ring.

Armed with spells not taught to anyone outside a few select noble families, armored with the best combat robes money could buy, and with dozens of duels under their belt, they couldn't imagine losing to a rabble of semi-literate - they surely spoke no French - mudbloods, no matter their number.

They stood no chance.

* * *

Robert Smith was almost as fast as Harry was. That was one of the reasons Harry had chosen him as one of Hermione's bodyguards. Technically he was one of Harry's bodyguards too, but everyone knew that Harry would act to protect Hermione first, before caring about himself. The other reason for his choice was that Smith didn't let anything slow him down when it came to keeping his charges them alive - no doubt, no thought was wasted on the consequences. And he was utterly ruthless - a bonus in harry's opinion.

As soon as he saw Harry cast Smith had started to move forward. Unlike most others he had two wrist holsters - once, on his left wrist, for his wand, another, enchanted one on his right wrist, for his other weapons. His muggle weapons. His enchanted improved muggle weapons. By the time he had reached Hermione she had already conjured a reinforced stone wall in front of her, wide enough to cut the delegation off from the british wizards and witches. Protego didn't block the unforgivables, but a stone wall did, conjured or not. And she had spent quite some time refining her spell so it could stand up to a number of spells. Smith moved to the left edge of the wall, crouching while he brought his favorite weapon to bear - a FN P90. Enchanted to be lighter and not suffer from recoil, with a bottomless magazine, and internal cooling charms he could fire it one-handed as easily as others fired a pistol. He trusted Dean to cover the right side. One french wizard already tried to go around the wall - they were faster than the british purebloods he had fought - and he put a burst of 5,7 x 28 mm bullets into his chest and face.

Then the disillusioned MG-3 machine gun on the first floor opened up. From their elevated position they could shoot over the wall into the purebloods. As enchanted as his own weapon, with recoil and cooling charms and a bottomless ammo box with a gemini charm, the machine gunner, another muggleborn like Smith, driven away from the magical world to return to a world that had left him behind while he had been studying magic, ending up a soldier of fortune, the best job he could get with what amounted to an education that had stopped at elementary school, wasn't limited to short controlled bursts, but could simply keep firing and walk the fire through the ranks of the french. Half of them died before they realized what was happening, torn up by a seemingly never ending hail of bullets. One tried to apparate, but that was blocked. Then the shields went up, stopping the bullets - for now. Smith knew that over time, even the strongest shield would not hold up against bullets designed to penetrate armor. They could simply wait… but they didn't have to.

Harry joined him at the edge of the now thicker wall - Hermione had already conjured another right behind it, and was in the process of conjuring a third. He didn't say anything, simply leaned around the corner, and brought the shields down with a flick of his wand. The machine gun did the rest.

Smith was the first to break cover, weapon ready, to check for survivors, once the MG-3 had stopped firing. There weren't any. He didn't expect to find any - he wouldn't have stopped firing in the machine gunner's place either otherwise. Still, he did check for illusions before waving the clear.

* * *

Harry felt like throwing up, but controlled himself. The sight of two dozen torn up corpses in pools of blood brought back memories he had hoped to bury forever. Beside him, Hermione didn't show any emotion - he realized she had retreated into her scientist persona, analyzing anything she could see without having to really see it. She was probably counting the bullet holes and trying to guess if the MG-3 needed some adjusting for those distances.

Both walked through the international portkey area, avoiding the spreading pools of blood on the floor pockmarked with bullet holes. At the wall in front of them they found the dauphin. Hermione crouched down and studied the dead prince. "I wonder if he died from the impact on the wall, or was killed by stray bullets afterwards." she commented, brushing a lock of hair away from the corpse's face, which had not been touched by spell or bullet.

"Does it matter?" Harry asked, trying to sound as detached as Hermione did.

"It matters for the record." Hermione answered, in the same tone of voice she used when talking about extra-credit work in a class she already had an O for sure in.

"I think he might have died from the wounds he suffered from my spell, but was shot to death before that happened."

Hermione nodded. "I agree." Behind them wizards were checking the other bodies. One of them brought the parchment d'Orléans had to them. it had soaked up some blood, but only on the backside, and had been cleared for spells.

Hermione read it through, and Harry could see her tense up slightly, even though she maintained a calm facade for the rest of their audience. "Inform the Prime Minister at once. Those idiots might try to obliviate him - they are citing our cooperation with him as a breach of the statute." Shaking her head, she looked at Harry., then started towards her office.

Harry understood her without words, and was calling for take-out for four to be delivered to Hermione's office while he followed her. It would be a long night.

* * *

A day later the two were still in Hermione's office. Pepper-up potions and cleaning charms hid the results of a sleepless night, but wouldn't help forever. But by now the whole Wizarding Britain was in a state of alert, and they had a meeting scheduled with the Prime Minister to "coordinate their response" to the ICW's infractions.

Harry dropped the special issue of the newspaper he had been reading, all centered on the "terrorist attack" on the Prime Minister's home - what the non-magical press was making of the attempt by the ICW "question" the Prime Minister. Forewarned, his security detachment including two muggleborn wizards had managed to stop the ICW-delegates, but not as quickly or easily as the dauphin had been stopped inside the ministry, and at least one of the attackers had escaped through apparition. MLE officers were looking for him, but no one thought they would succeed.

Harry glanced over the speculation in the article, more to amuse himself than for any other reason. The fight had been too public to completely cover it up, so the press was told it had been a terrorist attack. Given their history, the IRA had some trouble explaining that they were not responsible, especially after their latest splinter cell claimed responsibility. The Prime Minister also was already milking the whole incident for some political capital dealing with Northern Ireland.

In contrast, the magical press was in an uproar. The Quibbler was talking about an invasion attempt by French Royalty, and drew parallels to the invasion in 1066. It wasn't really helping to calm the waters. The Daily Prophet was focusing on the pureblood attack on the ministry, and the effectiveness of the defenses, and - the newspaper had really gone overboard in trying to please the new regime - demanded the head of the people behind the attack. Teen Witch Weekly would probably try to analyze what Harry's and Hermione's spell choices said about their relationship. And there was a small mob in Diagon Alley, demanding the overthrow of the "pureblood-regime at the ICW".

The coverage by the foreign press was different, unfortunately not in their favor. The French papers were frothing at the mouth at the "cowardly cruel murder of the noble crown prince of France" at the hands "of a rabble of dirty muggles", and were literally demanding the heads of Harry and Hermione. The Russian press was joining them in their "demand for justice", but also wondering about the competence of the french delegation, to be overwhelmed by muggles. The Prussians were holding back, just reporting about an "incident that led to the death of the dauphin of Magical France". The rest of the world hadn't really an opinion yet, but that would change.

Hermione sighed. "It's gonna be a war. They can't let this go, and we can't submit."

Harry nodded. Once he would have offered to claim sole responsibility, and sacrifice himself for his friends, but he knew it wouldn't help. The purebloods wanted everyone involved in the Revolution dead and the muggleborns crushed. And Hermione would kill him if he proposed that.

"We need to prepare. We have not much time, and we're currently wide open for anyone to enter, by broom portkey or apparition. That has to change." Hermione stated. Harry nodded again. "But we still need to counter their accusations about breaking the statute of secrecy. And we need to find out who exactly is behind this. This wasn't standard ICW procedure."

Harry agreed "They actually did something, and very quickly too. Something's not right."

Hermione rubbed her temples. She felt a headache coming up.

* * *

Antoine Malfoy was hiding his elation while talking to his esteemed colleagues in the ICW. The whole affair was coming along much better than expected. Not only was all of Magical France demanding the heads of the british mudbloods, but those animals had even managed to kill the dauphin. The Duc had other children, of course, but it was a first step, and for the crown prince to die so ingloriously, despite the attempts to paint him as overcome by treason and perfidity, did not help the royal family's image. Maybe a few rumors about their blood having grown weak...

Outwardly he showed outrage and anger as he prepared his speech, in which he'd demand to change the mandate to investigate into one to punish Wizarding Britain's current ministry and all responsible for this "abhorrent crime" and "blatant challenge to the authority of the ICW".

It wouldn't be long before wizards under his leadership would crush the mudbloods, restore purebloods in England, and raise his family's influence even higher than it was. Who knew, "Duc Malfoy" had a good ring to it…


	12. Chapter 12: Mobilizations

**Chapter 12: Mobilizations**

"Put the book away." Harry stated, frowning at Hermione. They were at Grimmauld Place, considered a more defensible location than their flat until they were sure no one could find it even with help, willing or not, from the local authorities, after another overly long day dealing with the ICW crisis. That was the official term as long as there was still a slim hope it would be solved without further violence. Harry was sure it would end in a war though. As was Hermione. Which was why she was trying to both govern Wizarding Britain and research means to seal up their borders against intruders. "We're not repeating 3rd year, dear."

"We don't have a time-turner, Harry. They still haven't broken the loop they are locked in - another thing we need to work on!" Hermione responded, gripping the old tom she was holding tighter in her hands, as if he'd try to snatch it out of her hands. To be honest, he had done it before.

"Exactly, So, you can't act as if you have one. Pepper-up potions only go so far, you need your rest, love." Leaving aside that an exhausted minister at the helm of the country would spell disaster once the war officially started, he couldn't bear seeing Hermione run herself ragged again.

"I can't rest! We need to find a way to block apparition on a large scale! We got the floo network cut off from the international network, and we've tweaked the portkey grid to prevent foreign portkeys from arriving, but the french still can apparate over the channel." Hermione raised her chin and stared right at him. Harry was suddenly reminded of the time before their exams - any year. Hermione would have the same expression when talking about revising.

"To quote Ron, we don't need to block apparition, we only need to find a way to counter intruders using it. And since no one ever has found a way to block apparition for a whole country, I am not sure if that's even possible." Harry briefly was distracted by the thought of his old friend's reaction to the current crisis. Ron was enraged at the attack, and had thrown himself into his training with a vengeance. Even or especially Hermione had been baffled at that - Ron, the military scholar.

"It just means it hasn't been found yet. And there have been two cases where a whole country has been blocked - San Marino in 1654, and the Vatican in 1911. Granted, those were just standard anti-apparition wards, and had to powered by a dark ritual in San Marno's case, but technically, entire countries have been blocked." Hermione lectured.

"The whole Department of Mysteries is working on it Hermione. If the Unmentionables can't find a solution I doubt you can find a way in your spare time." To be honest, he had doubts she would not manage - she had done such feats before - but at a price.

"Unspeakables, Harry!" Hermione corrected him, but she was grinning. "And the department has lost a number of their top researchers." Neither she nor Harry mentioned how that had happened. There had been less pureblood purists in that department, but the ones they had found had been… really bad. If the Prime Minister knew what had been done at the "muggle experimentation lab" before they had closed it down and filled it with concrete…

"Besides, aren't tests for the apparition detection grid coming along nicely? Last I heard they expect field testing in a few days." Between pushing the war budget - sorry, crisis budget - through and dealing with a number of interview requests by the international press, Harry had tried to keep up with the latest developments, but even with his influence, it had taken a lot of work to get the money for a military worth its name. Even muggleborns didn't understand that aurors and hit-wizards were not soldiers, but police officers. Some even thought hit-wizards were assassins… Hogwarts hadn't really taught them anything about the wizarding world. In any case, they needed soldiers, not policemen, and training and equipping them cost money.

"They are still struggling with the best way to power a grid that covers most of of south-east England. All the solutions offered so far are… unacceptable." Neither Harry nor Hermione were condoning human sacrifices. Harry didn't want to consider what would happen should they find themselves in dire need, and with some prisoners that would be executed anyway, but he more than suspected that Hermione already had thought of that, and planned it out. She was more ruthless than he was - part of why she was the minister, and he the chief warlock.

"They'll manage. You don't have to micromanage, Hermione. We can't afford for you to exhaust yourself like that. Things will only get worse, and you'll have to be on top of your game. I can't stand to see you burn yourself out." Harry was relieved to see that the last line made Hermione's expression, which had steadily grown more mulish, relax again.

She wasn't surrendering her book yet, though. "And what about That training you signed up? Combined Arms Fighting, or what Ron's calling it?" A slight peeve that her proposal to name the training with non-magical special forces "Special and Magical training" had been shot down was still noticeable. Harry hadn't even tried to make her understand that with the military love for acronyms, no one would be happy to take a Spam course.

He was sounding slightly defensive when he explained though. "It's just so I don't cause a problem should we get attacked again because I don't know the tactics used."

"Who's "We", Harry? Britain or us two?" Uh oh… he had entered Granger's Verbal Minefield, Ron called it that after his latest session. It would be hard to get out of this without causing an explosion.

"I mean us two. The purebloods will try to take us out, thinking that will finish Britain." They might even be correct - Should both of them die, Wizarding Britain would probably fall to pieces.

"And why wasn't I signed up for the course too then?" Hermione sounded calm and friendly, but she had put her book down, and he could see her ready to stand up.

"Ah…"

"Harry James Potter! If this is another attempt to 'keep me safe' while you plan to fight a whole war by yourself…" And he had blown it. He should have known better - one of Hermione's greatest fears was that he would try to sacrifice himself for everyone again, leaving her alone. Again. He barely noticed how Hermione cast privacy wards so the security team guarding Grimmauld Place would not overhear them before she started to lay into him, her words tinged with her fears of losing him.

"What are you thinking? You're the Chief Warlock now, not some hot-shot low-level auror on a solo-crusade! The whole idea is to rely on lots of soldiers, not a few powerful wizards! We can't afford to lose you! I can't lose you!" Tears were visible in her eyes now.

"I know, I know… but I might be needed. Sometime, for a special task you can't do with conventional weapons. And I need to be ready for that."

"What special task? Is some idiot planning to make you duel the French Duc?" Then he saw her eyes widen. "Oh Merlin! Are they planning to send dementors at us?"

"We don't know, but Ron said it would be a good way to counter troops of mostly non-magical soldiers - the wizards with them cannot keep many dementors at bay, so they'd have to retreat." Ron had called ti "falling back", of course.

Hermione sat down, hunching over. "Bloody dementors. Do the French even have them?"

Harry shook his head "We don't know. Fleur might know, but…"

Hermione winced "We don't know where her family is standing on the current problems with Magical France, and Ron's not subtle enough to find out without causing a scene." Percy would be subtle, but they didn't know if he and Bill were still at odds.

"Promise me that you'll not run off without a team to watch your back, even if a hundred dementors are boring down on London! They could simply use them as bait for a trap."

"I promise."

"And we'll have to teach - have people teach - as many of us how to cast a corporal patronus as possible. And keep people on standby to react to dementor intrusions. Merlin, we need a way to detect them, or they could be kissing people left and right without anyone knowing!" her mind was already racing, picking possible teachers, and formulating a memo to the DoM, and Azkaban's warden. And in the back of her mind she filed a plan to send dementors against the French. Just in case.

"You won't be going though." Harry stated. While Hermione was a powerful witch, her patronus wouldn't drive 100 dementors away. There was no need for her to risk herself.

He could see her pout. "Fine. But I get the special training too. Just in case it's needed. And under no circumstances will you be fighting when someone else could do it."

"Fine." He hated risking other people's life without doing anything himself, but he hated hurting Hermione even more.

Sighing, she leaned into him and moved to canceled the privacy charms. He interrupted her by grabbing her hand. When she turned her head to look at him, a question on her lips, he leaned forward and answered her with a kiss.

They kept the privacy charms up for quite some time afterwards.

* * *

Antoine Malfoy smiled while row after row of french aurors in dress robes passed the stands he was on, next to the Duc d'Orléans. He was carefully not smiling too much though, it wouldn't do to give the impression that he was as happy as he was seeing the best of the french forces parading before him, given the death of the Duc's heir. The Duc and his whole family was wearing black to signal their mourning, though Malfoy was quite sure that the younger siblings of the dead dauphin were privately glad about the demise of the heir as well - they were one step closer to the throne now. And with a war all but inevitable - he doubted the british would surrender and deliver the mudblood minister and her chief warlock to them for trial and execution - there would be numerous occasions for more convenient deaths. Charles d'Orléans, the late dauphin's younger brother, was an auror captain, and would be leading a team into battle soon. Leaders were always at risk during battles. Antoine was privately wondering if the new dauphin had made sure that his aurors were loyal to him, and none of them ready to curse him in the back in the middle of a fight. If they were, there were still ways to force them…

To think, the british even had asked the ICW if someone had impersonated or imperiused their delegation! That had almost swayed the vote by itself. If not for the Prussians, they might even have gotten a resolution for a mandatory punishing action by the whole ICW, but the damned germans had muddled the water, separating the threat against the statute of secrecy from the attack on the delegation. It had been a sly move too, letting France and Russia take actions "appropriate to take control of Wizarding Britain" while keeping the rest of the countries from getting involved.

He glanced to the side, studying Marie d'Orléans, the daughter of the Duc. Quite a beauty. He had heard she had wanted to join the aurors herself, to avenge her brother, but the Duc had, of course, denied her. She was a good duellist and a professional broom racer, but not a trained auror. She would have known that, Antoine thought, and probably only had asked to join as a gesture to gain political capital in case the next of her brothers died. His eldest son was smitten with the girl, Antoine knew, but he'd not allow any relationship until he was sure she could be controlled. It wouldn't do to have an outsider rule the Malfoys.

The last of the aurors passed the stands with their wands raised, and the Duc's family and his entourage sat down while the Duc started his speech. Antoine knew it already, having gotten a copy from the writer. It heavily featured revenge and their sacred duty to stop the british mudbloods before they tried to massacre more innocent magicals and exposed their world to the muggle murderers. Antoine thought it was fine, though his darling daughter Antoinette, who had looked it over when she had visited him in his office, felt it might alienate their own mudbloods. He had scoffed at that - part of the reason for this war was to show the mudbloods what happened if they tried to overturn the natural order. It wasn't as if they needed the mudbloods, not with the Russians at their side.

He frowned slightly, That hadn't gone perfectly according to plan. He had hoped the russians would send part of their standing force of war wizards, enough to make a difference, but not enough so they could claim a lot of the glory of beating the british. Sadly, the russians had insisted on not sending any troops before their whole expeditionary corps was ready. They wanted an "overwhelming force" for the invasion, and mobilizing their reserve took some time. Russians - still not quite as organized as modern magical nations. But they'd make good cannon fodder, provided France could make sure to keep overall command. That would be the task of Guillaume Dubois. General Dubois, now. A veteran of the Grindelwald war, he was used to working with the russians, and should ensure France's primacy. If not… there were other leaders willing to replace him.

While they were waiting for the russians to get ready, "scouting actions" would be conducted on the "front". Antoine doubted they'd amount to much - the british mudbloods were not that weak - but they should throw them into confusion, and split their forces up. Manly though they would serve to provide an outlet for the younger, hot-blooded aurors to gain experience.

The Duc finished his speech, and the assembled crowd shouted and yelled their agreement. If any british had been there they'd been torn to pieces. Most of the entourage was yelling too, despite the loss of dignity. Antoine glanced over at one of the few who was not shouting for blood - Marcel Delacour. Old blood, but he had no male heir, so his title would soon pass to cadet branch. A good thing, given that his eldest daughter had married an english blood traitor who worked for the goblin vermin. That had hurt her father's career even before the massacre, now it was all but destroyed. Only old loyalties kept the man in the ministry, even though he had no real office anymore. He was a potential problem though - but also an opportunity. His youngest daughter was currently at Beauxbaton. She would be quite the leverage on her father - or her sister. And she was quite pretty too, as veelas were. His younger son had remarked upon that.

* * *

The Prime Ministers office was busy - so busy that those not in the know about the Magical World were certain that a major scandal was about to be exposed. That, or a major terrorist threat, given the number of meetings with special forces. The hiring of more people for customs was buried under budget wrangling, and escaped the notice of most people. But important was that now wizards were stationed at the major ports and airports, and the chunnel, and that they had now several combined arms teams ready for deployment by teleportation, with more in training. On the military front of the coming war, things were looking up.

Diplomatically, he hadn't made any headway though - there seemed to be no safe way to sound out his fellow leaders from the other NATO states. A summit meeting would be best, but he hadn't found a pretext yet to call for such a summit.

The minister suddenly had a thought. Maybe a sudden crisis… corruption revealed inside NATO. Too big… but a manufactured diplomatic incident, big enough for him to request a personal meeting with say the president of France? That had potential. He'd pass that on to SIS, not in writing of course.

At least the magical diplomats had managed to keep the rest of the magical world from declaring war on Britain, or so he heard. Still, they were facing the French and Russians, and according to his officers, there had been air-to-air actions over the channel already - on brooms! That sounded far less serious than it was - apparently, normal gunners couldn't spot the brooms without a wizard removing concealing charms, and to do that, one had to get close. Helicopters would have been perfect to intercept the brooms, but they hadn't read in any of their pilots yet, nor prepared a way to hide their sorties from the population. The solution they had come up with reminded him of the start of military aviation in World War I: A light machine gunner riding behind a magical on the same broom. Apparently, flying carpets had been outlawed for years in Britain, due to lobbying from broom manufacturers, so no one had much experience with flying one.

He shook his head. The magical world was not so different when it came to corruption by the industry, it seemed. At least it had worked, to a point - they had stopped the broom intrusions, but at least two of the french broom riders had gotten away, and so the enemy knew what they were doing. That was a bad thing. But having them fly over England would have been worse.

* * *

Luna Lovegood put her pen down and blew over the paper - out of habit, not that she really needed, unlike with Quills. Another lead article for the Quibbler almost done. This one dealt with the conspiracy against Britain at the ICW. Luna hesitated, closing her eyes. Should she mention that the war was just a pretext for a powergrab by a pureblood family in France? It sounded not entirely true to her inner ear, but not entirely false either. She decided to put it in. Her father always had said some truth was better than none at all.

She wished she could look at the ICW herself, and see who was plagued by wrackspurts, who was suffering from nargles, and who was attracting the … others. But she felt she would not be received well at the ICW, given she was one of the best friends of Harry and Hermione. Until Ron had gotten over his wrackspurt problem, she had been their best friend, period. But she didn't begrudge Ron's return - he was needed, both for the war, and for the two. And he had needed to be needed, to grow into the man she had seen already.

It was curious though - while the number of countries she could visit without fearing to get arrested shrank - Hermione made sure to keep a list updated, and forwarded to her, she really was a good friend, even if she tended to worry too much - the list of people receiving the Quibbler in foreign countries grew. She doubted the sudden increase in interest was due to their articles on undiscovered animals, so it was probably her articles covering the life in Britain - even though those articles often were far less entertaining than the latest news on snorkacks. But she was happy that the other wizarding newspapers and magazines who featured articles written by her only wanted the boring ones - it would make certain that the Quibbler remained the premier magazine for naturalists!

Though she still didn't know why after her latest issue, covering new crumple-horned snorkack sightings in Sweden, France had demanded to send an ICW inspection team to Sweden. It sounded like a heavy wrackspurt infection. Hermione had asked her to write about Snorkacks in America, "to test a hypothesis", but Luna had of course refused - there were no snorkacks in America!

* * *

Marie d'Orléans was shaking with rage, staring at the white cliffs of Dover. First her brother, now her best friend, murdered by the English! Susanne Marceau had been her best friend since they entered Beauxbatons together, and they had stayed friends despite their competitive natures when they became broom racers. And unlike Marie herself, blocked by her father, Susanne had managed to get recruited as a broom flyer by the french forces, eager to avenge her first crush. And now she was dead. Shot down by english animals by means unknown. Marie wasn't sure what exactly had happened, the sole survivor of the group had been trembling, and frantic, and stammered about invisible dragons - as if the magic-resistant dragons could be disillusioned.

She abruptly turned on her heels, and stalked over to the tents housing the medwizards of the broom forces. She'd find out what killed her best friend, no matter what. And she'd have her revenge.

* * *

Ron Weasley was happy. Very happy. His first field test of the "Angelina II" had worked out very well. An invisible, flying FV-432 was perfect for dealing with enemy brooms, especially with a machine gun with the standard charms - cooling, bottomless ammo box with a repeated gemino charm, and recoilless charm - mounted on it. His father even had been enthusiastic to enchant another vehicle. After the success of this, perhaps, he'd get to enchant a more modern APC. Maybe a Warrior - those should be able to deal with anything, even dragons.

Ron though would be returning to base, and prepare for his next outing. He still had a lot to learn about so many topics. But he'd take his mates out for a drink, to celebrate their victory. The french hadn't known what hit them when the machine gun had started to tear into them.

And best of all - they had been killed from so far away, he'd not see their dying faces in his nightmares.


	13. Chapter 13: Enemies and Allies

**Chapter 13: Enemies and Allies**

"Here." Harry offered a can of diet coke to Hermione. She looked up from her book - a volume from the Black family library about, who'd have guessed, detection and scrying spells - and blinked. "I didn't know we had softdrinks here." Here being Grimmauld Place 12.

Harry shrugged. "Since we started staying here so you could check the library for some light reading the elves have restocked the pantry." His sarcasm was light and teasing - it was mostly security concerns that made them live here, saving their "real flat" as a bolthole, with a vanishing cabinet set up to connect it to Grimmauld Place 12. "It's not as if there's a danger of shocking pureblood visitors with such radical muggle things like cans of softdrinks anymore."

Hermione nodded, popped her can open and gulped half of it down. "Ah… beats pumpkin juice any day of the week."

"You're only saying that because of the caffeine." Harry claimed while sitting down next to her on the couch.

"And the lack of sugar."

Harry didn't comment on that - Hermione's parents and their dentistry-fueled habits was not a topic to tease Hermione about.

"Found anything in this book?" He knew she didn't have - or she'd be scribbling notes all over the place while being oblivious to the world.

Hermion shook her head, her mane of thick curls briefly obscuring her face. "No. Just some treatise about scrying and how to avoid being scryed on. Quite obsolete since wards against it were developed in 1750." She closed the book, slowly and carefully, it was 400 years old after all."

"Rumor is you wrecked your office with accidental magic when you heard about Charlie's return from Romania."

Hermione huffed. "I do not lose control that easily. I would have liked to wreck him "accidentally" though - what was the man thinking, bringing a dragon with him when he returned? I do hope Molly's sending him a few howlers over that."

"He was stealing a dragon according to the Romanians."

"Technically, they acquired it from illegal sources in Britain. They never got a permit to take it out of the country, so… it's not stealing." Hermione sounded prim and proper, as if she was correcting an imprecise wording in one of his essays back at school.

"That's our official stance?"

"Officially we're looking into the whole affair, and will investigate all claims thoroughly." Hermione answered, kicking her shoes off and pulling her feet up on the couch, scooting closer to Harry.

"Not that it matters - Romania joined Russia and France for their ICW-sanctioned "policing action". As did most of eastern europe. The Poles are dragging their feet, but that's because they fear that the Prussians are trying to use the opportunity to settle a few scores, so they do not want to send out troops yet that they might need soon at home." He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer.

"Any chance the Prussians will do that?"

"I've got no idea. They've been acting neutral, but rumor is that the Prussian ministry is torn up between the ICW-appeasers and those who still want to get even for the defeat of Grindelwald. In addition to that a lot of muggleborns from the rest of Germany have emigrated to Prussia over the last decades, and according to rumors they are pushing to support us."

"How badly will it hurt us on the diplomatic front if Grindewald's men support us?" hermione bit her lower lip.

"Hard to say. The main issue for the countries outside Europe is the Statute of Secrecy. The latin americans are particularly paranoid about that, as are the middle eastern countries." Harry finished his can, threw it in the air and wandlessly vanished it before it hit the floor.

"That's no surprise. The latin american countries were among those who were hit the hardest by the Inquisition. After the Statute of Secrecy went into effect they managed to change the documents and make it appear as if it had been aimed at the so-called "hidden jews" after the Reconquista. The mundane Reconquista, I mean. Even with the statute the spanish wizards were driven out of the country. Unlike the italians though they could flee to the Americas. But they kept their fear of discovery. And the arab countries had similar experiences with persecution based on religion." Hermione was going into lecture mode even as Harry pulled her into his lab. For a short moment both were back at Hogwarts.

Harry interrupted her with a kiss, and continued himself. "The chinese wizards are also nervous about getting discovered - they haven't forgotten what the communists did to "dissidents", and the recent massacre of students... "

Hermione nodded. "Africa's a non-issue." Neither she nor Harry wanted to dwell on the reasons for that - Britain could be the second victim of an ICW Punishing expedition for breaking the Statute of Secrecy. "Australia?"

"They haven't said anything. The aborigines are not interested as long as they are left in peace, and the british expats don't like purebloods much. And as usual the North American countries are busy with their own wars, even if all are currently cold."

"So… as long as we can show that we are keeping the Statute, we do not have to worry about facing ancient mayan blood magic rituals, unleashed genies, magical plagues from Sumer and Egypt and Ghost dances that could cotrol volcanos?"

"Correct. We only have to face the combined might of Magical France and Russia, and their lackeys." Harry grinned widely. "We've faced worse odds."

"That we did." Hermione matched his grin. The fake levity didn't last, and both grew serious even though Hermione kept her place in his lap, head resting on his chest. "I've got some good news though: The british centaurs formally allied themselves with us, same as the merpeople."

Harry winced where Hermione couldn't see it. "That means Magical Greece won't fight us - they quite revere the centaurs." He did not mention that Magical Greece hadn't fought anyone in centuries. They had not mattered in the greater picture ever since Atlantis was sunk.

Hermione must have somehow sensed his lack of enthusiasm. "I know they're not really worth much in a battle - there's a reason that bows are not used anymore by humans - but their seers could be very helpful… huh?" She blinked with surprise when Harry gripped her shoulders and pulled her around, to stare into her face.

"What did I hear? Hermione Granger calling divination useful?" Harry was genuinely surprised even though he hammed it up.

Hermione pouted "Centaur seers have a long and well-documented history of providing insight and information thanks to their star gazing. It is said that Hogwarts offered astronomy in an attempt to unlock their secrets." Harry raised his eyebrows at her, and she winced. "Alright… I am just happy that the magical races acknowledge what we are doing for them. Though given our lack of progress on wide-scale detection spells we might as well as centaur seers about enemy movements."

Harry grinned. "True. Though the apparition detection is coming along nicely. Ron's having trouble with the broom scouts though - turns out his flying tanks are not fast enough to effectively react to lots brooms that are spread out and disillusioned."

"We could ask the merpeople, maybe they can scout the channel. Most broom fliers fly rather low compared to aircraft. I don't know if they can detect fliers at all though - we know so little about magical races!"

Harry nodded. "I'll pass it along. Ron was muttering about mines and merpeople, but I doubt they have a magical navy, Durmstrang's ship notwithstanding. What about the Goblins?"

"They are, as you'd say, dragging their feet. Even though we offer them equality before the law and an end to the discrimination, they have been very cautious in responding. Too cautious, I think, even counting their interests in the other countries." Hermione looked straight into his eyes.

"I know they are still mad about our little escapade…" Harry grinned, remembering their escape on the back of a dragon. "But you think it's more than that?"

Hermione nodded. "They are extremely self-serving. I think they would fare better allied with us, in the long run, but… they can be bought, and betrayal is possible, as we found out. And since they still control our gold, they have a lot of leverage. And if we start to move our gold out, they would likely notice. That's why we are preparing to switch to the british pound, but that will take time given the mess the purebloods did to the economy."

Harry nodded. "So, what did you do?"

Hermione bit her lip. "It's just insurance… I don't plan on using it, but… I've had a few vaults be opened under the name of muggleborns, and filled them with shaped charges and a mixture of other explosives."

"You plan to blow them and our gold up?"

Hermione nodded. "As a last resort. I thought about using poison gas, but as a race of miners they have to be prepared for such. But shaped charges to blow through the ceilings and walls, and then FAE bombs… at the very least it should weaken them enough for conventional soldiers to deal with them."

Harry was once again reminded just how ruthless and scary the love of his life could be. He pulled her into a hug, both of them needed one. Hermione was silent for a few minutes, before continuing. "With the war we're in, less werewolves and vampires are moving to Britain than expected when we removed the discriminatory laws, but those who do seem eager to fight. Though they also are a security risk - Voldemort had both among his followers, and since the death of Remus we lack any trustworthy contact to the werewolves." And they never had one trustworthy contact among the vampires. "But it helps us diplomatically. While most countries discriminate against most magical races, many of them have exceptions for one or another magical race. Romania took a lot of pressure from Russia to join their alliance, their vampires and veela opposed it fiercely."

Harry nodded "And we can use any help."

"I'd say we need every little bit of help."

Harry nodded, and hugged her again. They remained silent for a few minutes, just enjoying each other's closeness.

"You know, last I heard your crazy plan will be implemented soon."

"It's not crazy, Harry. It's the easiest way to both keep the Statute of Secrecy, and get us the soldiers we need."

"If by "keep" you mean "bend until it should be broken", then I agree. And I can only shake my head at the irony of it - after all a marriage law started all of this.

"It's strictly voluntary, Harry. And I checked the books - the magical world has no concept of an illegal marriage of convenience. As long as it's formally correct it's a valid marriage."

"Of course - most of the pureblood marriages were marriages of convenience by our standards."

"Their loss, Harry."

No more was said that night as the young couple retired to the bedroom.

* * *

"What's the latest news of the magicals?" The prime minister was sounding slightly annoyed - the latest grilling by members of the parliament who wanted to know the reasons for some budget changes, and increased secrecy in some military bases had been a tad tiresome. His minister of defense was not impressed though - they had all gone through such in their political career.

"We've got most of the squibs and other relative to magicals in our armed forces training with magicals now. It'll take a while until all are ready for action, but they are coming along nicely. A number have seen action over the channel already."

"Still too few. What about Minister Granger's latest proposal to increase the numbers of soldiers in our ranks that can be told about magic without the rest of the magical world going on a crusade?" It was hard to say what rankled the prime minister the most - treating a girl barely into her 20s as a minister, the threat of facing a whole world of magicals trying to wipe out his country for knowing about them, or that rather … unorthodox… proposal of Minister Granger. If the press ever got wind about this, they'd have a field day.

"I have discussed it with the commander of the regiment, and he is cautiously optimistic that the men will understand. He does expect the joking about the whole affair to go on for years though."

The prime minister sighed. "It does seem the best loophole to avoid breaking the statute of secrecy while getting our best soldiers ready for action against magicals. Go ahead then." Fortunately, it would never be entered in the official history of the regiment. "Shouldn't we use more of our forces though?"

"The soldiers will still need training. As do the magicals who will operate with them. Most of the british wizards, while experienced in combat with magicals, have no military experience, and action movies make for a poor substitute. And those who come from pureblood families…"

"We have those?"

"Yes, Sir. One of their best is actually a pureblood. He was quite ignorant at the start - his first training exercise got his whole squad killed by friendly fire - but he adapted very fast. All the officers I talked with say he's a natural."

"Ah, that one." Ronald Weasley - he was the closest friend of both the Minister of Magic and the Chief Warlock. The prime minister only hoped the rumors of a past ménage à trois and other sordid relationships were just that, rumors.

"Yes, Sir. As I was saying - our uninformed soldiers need training to face magical foes. Even our best do not fare well in their first exercises. It's one thing to hear about, ah, magic, and another to see it in action. And as I said before, our wizards need training too, to work effectively with our soldiers."

"I see." He didn't like it, not at all. But having troops trained to fight magicals was better than having them develop an even bigger dependency on magicals. He didn't want his soldiers to become pawns for the magicals in their war. On the other hand, having magicals integrated in his special forces… that would make them more loyal to the United Kingdom, instead of the magical world.

"How are the preparations for the summit coming along?"

"All on schedule, Sir."

* * *

"Left, left! We need more distance!" Ron was not quite shouting - he had learned how to use the intercom gear - but he was raising his voice. Anyone would, in their situation. Next to him the machine gunner was raking the flock of harpies that their wards had revealed with sustained fire. No more "short, controlled bursts" there. A part of Ron's mind made a note to mention the dangers of getting too used to enchanted weapons to the brass at the base even while he pulled his wand and conjured a spray of water to the right side of the flying APC. No suspicious splashes, so it seemed that this side was still clear.

He should have expected this - things had been too easy for some days now, the enemy was bound to adapt their tactics. No more brooms trying to get close and getting shot down, no, from what he could tell their broom riders now summoned animals, disillusioned them, and then sent them off. And with the range of the anti-disillusion wards on the vehicles so damn short, the last engagement had been quite closer than he liked. At least the animals were still slower than the APC, even though racing brooms could outrun the APC - another nasty surprise for the flying tanks.

They would have to adapt now, no more solo patrols. Maybe a few scouts, covered at range by others. Or a formation where each vehicle covered the other, like a defensive ring… maybe he should look into the tactics of the 8th Air Force, back when they had no fighter escorts. Hey, that spray had shown something. "Enemy 2 O'clock low!" he barked, and fired a concussion blast in that direction. Two of his squad mates popped up in the main hatch and started firing their assault rifles at the now revealed harpies. Two of the beasts tumbled down, screeching and bleeding, another crashed into the APC's front, the fourth though almost took his head off with her claws, only a quick ducking and his helmet saved his scalp. Jones, the machine gunner took her down as she turned around for another attempt.

How were they even detecting them? The APC was invisible too.. damn, those bird creatures probably had some way to see through that. They really needed some way to counter them… maybe magically enhancing radar would help? The APC tilted and flew lower, so the gunner and the riflemen had a better field of fire against their pursuers. A few minutes later the harpies finally were dead or gone. Ron already was making notes to handle such an assault better next time. It galled him that the wizard who had sent the harpies at him had managed to escape.

* * *

Marie d'Orléans was seething. Her plan should have worked, but that flying broom killing monstrosity had proven too nimble and its skin too tough. She had seen it all, under her cloak of invisibility - a larger version, specially made for broom riders according to her orders - while directing her summoned harpies. But the murderers of her dearest Susanne had escaped justice again. Worse though - with such a setback, she'd have a tougher time pushing her plans through, no matter how sound they were. At least the officers were forced to listen to the daughter of the Duc, and given the losses taken before, had no arguments to oppose her. Malfoy though was sure to try to portray her as a girl playing at war - again. She'd prove him wrong. She'd avenge Susanne, coute que coute!

* * *

Fleur Weasley was sitting in the sand outside Shell Cottage, staring at the sky and the sea. As if to mock her own, torn mood, the sky was clear, bright and blue over a darker ocean. Inside the cottage behind the young veela her husband, Bill, and his brother, Percy, were talking. She had excused herself, stating she needed air since she felt a bit ill at ease. A transparent excuse to escape the discussion that oh so carefully avoided politics and the elephant in the room. Her own allegiance.

Percy Weasley had come to sound her out, that much everyone knew. And Percy knew that she knew. Fleur was a bit vexed that neither Harry nor Hermione had come - but it was mostly vanity. Percy was family, after all, and a rising star in the ministry. Some even called him - behind his back, and in whispers - the last hope of the purebloods. He had come a long way from the prefect prick, as the twins called him once, back before…

Fleur sighed, and suppressed the memories. One war barely over, and now another was starting. A more terrifying war than she had imagined, seeing as half of Europe seemed bent on attacking Britain. That wasn't the real problem though - and wasn't that a sign how bad her own problem was? - the problem was that among Britain's enemies was France, her home country. Her family's country. Would any of her cousins be among the attackers? Thank the goddess that Gabrielle was still too young to fight. Her father was working at the ministry, too important for the frontlines. No one would expect her mother to fight, she was "too veela" according to some.

Both her british family and her french family would be, must be wondering which side Fleur would pick in the conflict. The Weasleys, no surprise there, had jumped into the war with both feets - and without their heads, or so Fleur would have joked if the situation had been less serious. Ron had joined the military, as she understood, George was working with Arthur on enchanting weapons, Ginny was training as a volunteer with what would have been the aurors before the revolution, Percy was working at the ministry, Charlie was busy setting up the new british dragon sanctuary - population: 1 Norwegian Ridgeback - and Bill… Bill was hoping his wife would decide what they would do.

It all hinged on her, she knew. Bill wouldn't fight if she would not fight. And Fleur didn't know what to do. She felt torn between her families, torn between her countries, torn between her love for Gabrielle and her parents, and her love for Bill and his family. And her family was no help - neither of her families. The letters from her father and mother, back when they were still being delivered, were avoiding the matter of politics but clearly hinted at her having to decide for herself, and that they'd love her no matter what she decided. But what mattered that if she would hate herself for her decision? Fleur pulled her knees up, dropped her head on them, and cried until she felt an arm wrap around her shoulders, and a man sit down next to her. Bill. Percy must have gone then.

He didn't say a word. He wouldn't say a word, wouldn't push her. Would leave all to her. She simply cried harder.

* * *

Antoine Malfoy felt like laughing loud when he arrived through the floo in his home. The Russians were finally ready, their famous War Wizards staging in Western France. He was a bit put out that his plans for the war had not been implemented - the Russians had insisted on simply overwhelming the british with numbers. It was simple, yet cunning - after killing their pureblood population the english had not enough wizards left to defend their country, not when they would strike all key locations at once. Best of all, the russians would be the first wave in most locations, taking the worst losses!

He smiled, and raised the glass his elf had filled for him - tomorrow, Wizarding Britain's most important locations, their ministry, Diagon Alley and Hogwarts, would burn!


	14. Chapter 14: Invasion

**Chapter 14: Invasion**

The old castle looked impressive, especially in the dimming light of the evening. Aleksandr Iwanotich Azarov had seen a lot in the 90 years of his life, and even he had to admit that Hogwarts was a sight to behold. Even more so when he took the wards into account that surrounded the massive walls. No wonder it had withstood both Voldemort and Grindelwald. And yet it would fall - to the same people who had crushed Grindelwald's vaunted wizards under their heels, the War Wizards of Magical Russia. True, they had some allies there, French, some Bulgarians and Romanians and even some Hungarians, but the battle would be decided by his war wizards - assaulting a castle that old, and that warded, was not a task to be left to a bunch of wizards who were trained to keep the peace and arrest petty criminals, and such people made up the bulk of the auxiliaries.

Azarov would have sent all of the others to take Hogsmeade, but the French were insisting on taking part in the attack on Hogwarts itself. He was sorely tempted to let them get killed to draw out the defenders, but decided against it. The French had sent part of the Duc's Guard with him, and those were good wizards. Not as skilled in open warfare as the Russians - but then, who was - but they were led by a veteran from the Grindelwald War, and would be very effective once they were inside the castle, where the fighting would turn onto duels and skirmishes.

Even without the ones that would take and hold Hogsmeade they had more than enough to overwhelm the defenders. Azarov grinned. Bringing in so many wizards undetected had been a challenge, but they had managed. It had been quite tight, but the Ship of Durmstrang had deposited them all on the shores of a scottish lake. The French had pressed for a landing on the shores of Black Lake itself, right on Hogwarts' borders, ready to take the castle by surprise, but Azarov had scoffed at that. Typical for the French - brave, but reckless. If the British had warded the Lake then the attempt could wreck the ship, leaving survivors stranded. There was no need to take such a risk if one could simply land somewhere deserted, and mass one's forces for a surprise assault inside the Forbidden Forest, without the dangers and chaos of a contested landing. The old wizard preferred to fight his battles with as much control and preparation as possible. Incidentally, it seemed as if the Lake had not been warded.

Azarov looked over at his cursebreakers. Once he gave the order they'd move towards the wards, protected by the rest of the War Wizards, and start tearing them down. Usually that would take quite some time, hours of being exposed to enemy action, but for such an important battle the Tsar had granted him the use of the Wardleech, an artifact that drained wards of their power. Even with the artifact taking down Hogwarts' wards would take almost 30 minutes. It could be done faster, but that ran the risk of overloading the Leech's storage capacity, with disastrous results.

The old wizard checked his watch. Five more minutes, provided everyone else was as ready as his wizards were.

* * *

Marius Krum felt ill at ease. He hadn't felt good about the war - everyone but the diplomats was calling it that - ever since it had started. His fellow wizards, especially the Hungarians and the Romanians, and even some of his own Bulgarians, were too eager to shed blood. Too eager to kill some mudbloods. That wouldn't be a war, but a massacre once they were in Hogsmeade. True, the way the purebloods of Britain had been slaughtered had been horrid to hear, but from what he heard from his cousin Viktor, they had all but asked for it. Of course, Viktor was prejudiced - he had had an affair with the Mudblood Minister herself, after all. Oh, he denied it, said they had been friends, nothing more, but everyone had read the articles. At least it had given Viktor an excuse to not get involved in the war - the press back home had been eating up his claims that he could not bear the thought of fighting his old love. How romantic! Instead poor Marius had to uphold family honor, and flatten some british village in the next hours. Then Marius remembered something else - Viktor's reaction when they heard about the massacres in Britain. The star seeker had not been surprised, and simply said that he had thought that Hermione would have been quicker…

* * *

To an outside observer, Marie d'Orléans was just another beautiful young woman out on a stroll in London. Nothing in her face or gait gave away how tense she was, how much effort it took to patiently wait. Again she had been denied a place at the frontlines, she was to "observe and gather information". From a safe distance. No matter how crucial information was in wartime according to her father, she ached to be among those who got to, finally, punish the british pigs for killing her best friend.

And she was not even to enter Diagon Alley itself, but to observe - from a safe distance! - how a group of Aurors took control of the Leaky Cauldron - the dirtiest, most miserable excuse for a bar she had ever seen outside the slums of Algier.

From the way the young muggle who had been about to chat her up suddenly veered off and returned to his friends, her face must have finally betrayed her emotions, so Marie made another effort to calm herself down, to portray a harmless, polite and charming facade again. Even though all she wanted was to see justice done, finally, for Susanne.

At least it wouldn't be long now. The attackers would be already inside knockturn alley, using the hidden apparition points they heard about from the unicorn horn smuggler they had captured a few months ago. Once the fighting started and anti-apparition wards were up, the group she was to observe would storm the dive and prevent the british inside the alley from escaping.

* * *

Henry Aberty felt as if everyone was staring at him, and seeing through his lies, as he was walking towards the floo control room in the Ministry of Magic. Any second now one of the other workers would point at him, scream traitor, and then he'd be killed in seconds. Or captured, interrogated, and executed. He didn't want to do this. He really didn't. But he had sworn an oath. And if he failed, then his family would die. The would be murdered like so many had been murdered before. The ministry had been taken over by enemies, and he had to open the floos so the ministry could be retaken, after they had foolishly left him in place since he was a pureblood.

He reached the floo control room, and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was to do. His wand hidden at his side, he knocked on the door, then entered.

"Stupefy! Stupefy!"

* * *

Half a country away from London, Francois Maladier felt the stone in his pocket vibrate three times. The signal from Aberty. The british weakling had done it, the floos to the british ministry were open for his forces and the additional ones installed here were linked up as well, their fires lit. Not bad for a man under so strong a confundus that he believed he was working for the mudblood ministry and infiltrating a pureblood-held ministry. Maladier wouldn't have chosen such a plan - too much could go wrong - but it was the only way around the oaths the ministry staff had sworn. An obliviate so the man could pass the spell checks at the floo without showing any spells on him, with the confundus-changed memories restored by a potion that replaced the stomach soothing potion he always had to take after lunch.

The aristocratic french wizard stood with an effortless grace hinting at more than a bit of veela blood in his ancestry, and bowed to the Aberty family - wife, two children - sitting huddled at the table in their living room. "My apologies again, Madame Aberty, for the rude invasion of your home, but the needs of my country take precedence over my manners." The woman didn't answer, just held her children even tighter. Maladier would have frowned at that, if he had not already turned to his aide. Those british purebloods had no manners. "Lucien, inform the other commandants that we will be entering the Ministry now." While his aide took out a communication mirror, Maladier opened the door to the garden, where a row of invisible tents had been pitched up last night. "Men! You have your orders! Go in the Duc's name, and avenge our dauphin! Vive le Duc! Vive la France!"

The men storming out of the tents - far more than a non-enchanted tent would have been able to hold - took up the cries, and cheered as they ran into the floos, each man shouting out the destination - Ministry of Magic.

Maladier's wizards, all French, and all of them experienced past duelling, poured out the floos in the Ministry's atrium, wands spewing spells before their feet touched the ground. By the time the british guards realized what was happening, two workers and one guard had already been cut down and a bombarda had taken out the machine gun nest opposite the floo and apparition points - Aberty's information had been very useful. It didn't take long to secure the atrium after that.

* * *

"It's still an ugly brute, Charlie. It tried to bite my hand off when it had just hatched, I am certainly not giving it a chance to finish the job now that it's fully grown!" Ron shook his head at his older brother.

"She, Ron, not it. It's a female Hungarian Horntail! And nesting!" Charlie Weasley was grinning broadly. "Soon we'll have more than one Horntail on British soil!"

"Who is watching it, while you're here?"

"Hagrid. Norberta remembered two are bonding. Isn't it touching?"

Ron was saved from finding an answer to that - his brother had surely gone mental in Romania - by the sudden flares in the darkening sky.

"What…" Charlie blinked, surprised, probably didn't recognize it for what it was, but Ron realized at once that someone was attacking the wards of Hogwarts. Reflexes born from spending many of his formative years in danger, and honed by weeks of training had him on his broom before Charlie could finish his question.

"Wards under attack, head to the Great Hall and help the teachers!" Ron bellowed as he sped away, towards the walls of Hogwarts. He needed to know what was happening so he could call for help.

By the time he arrived on the ramparts, the new guards had taken up positions already, their guns and wands aimed at the grounds below. "Sitrep!" Ron barked while dismounting from the broom, shrinking it without thinking about it while striding over to the two men putting up a light machine gun. "Large number of wizards at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, attacking the wards. Several dozens at least, shielded. No sign of attackers massing at other locations, but they could be hidden better."

"Shielded?" Ron frowned. The attackers either knew about the range of firearms, or were very cautious, both was bad news. He prefered overconfident foes, they usually made mistakes one could exploit.

He heard running steps behind him and whirled around, his wand and his L9A1 "Browning" aimed at the person before he realized it was McGonagall.

"Mister Weasley!" the old woman exclaimed, and for a moment he was back at school, being reprimanded for a prank and adventure. Then he was a soldier again - no, the officer in command.

"Yes. The wards are under attack by unknown wizards, multiple dozens, or more, at the edge of the Forbidden Forests. How long will the wards hold?"

"They are failing far quicker than expected. I don't know how that's possible. Even Voldemort took longer than this..." McGonagall's voice was just a bit less composed than usual. Before she could try to take command and mess things up, Ron interrupted.

"Have a few teachers check the other areas around the castle, to spot hidden or disillusioned attackers, and tell them to inform me here. Evacuate the students into the Hufflepuff dorms. Before you use any floos, check if they are still working. If they are working, check with the Longbottoms, their mansion is big enough to receive the students and warded."

He turned around and checked the guards - now a dozen of them were there, some still putting their gear on while others were ready to fire. Sadly, not many of them had night vision gear. He reached into his enchanted pocket and pulled out his night vision gear, studying the forest, then pulled out a flare gun - enchanted as well.

"I'll illuminate the forest. Put your night vision gear away. On my order, start firing at the men lined up there."

A few seconds later the flare went up, revealing the enemy troops. A curse from the right of him informed him that one had not been listening, and had still been looking through the night vision lenses when the flare went up. Amateur.

"Fire!"

* * *

Azarov didn't curse when the darkness they were standing in was suddenly replaced by a bright light from the sky. He had been expecting a reaction from Hogwarts' staff. He did curse when he heard a ripping noise, like a lot of firecrackers going off, and men were starting to fall down, bleeding and screaming.

"Link and overlap shields!" he bellowed out, and his war wizards clustered together. Overlapping shields was a speciality of the russian War Wizards, allowing them to withstand attacks that would devastate anyone else. It took a lot of wizards to maintain a shield cluster, but Russia had wizards to spare. A few of the french too managed to get under cover of the overlapping shields, but many of them were left on the ground where they had been struck. As were a number of his War Wizards. With their positions now secure for the moment, he focused on finding the enemy. He hadn't seen any spell fire from up close, only some flashes from the ramparts, hundreds of meters away, way out of the range of spells. Then he realized - the british were using guns. And unless there was a whole regiment up there, they were using guns enchanted to reload quickly. His respect for the enemy went up a notch - this might be a bigger challenge than he thought. Still, once the wards were down he could close in, and once inside the castle they would lose the range advantage, and his superior numbers would carry the day. Especially once his forces on the other side of the castle came into play. Overlapping shields of a War Wizard company could withstand boulders thrown by giants, and to finite them they had to come into range of their spells and reveal themselves. Guns or no guns, the british would still lose.

The fire ebbed, and Azarov shouted out to his wizards to get ready for an enemy sally. It didn't happen. Instead, the shield clusters were suddenly drenched with liquid that ignited at once. "Bubblehead charms!" he bellowed, casting one himself. Fire wouldn't hurt them behind the shields, and the charms would allow them to breathe. Then the guns started up again, probably hoping for them to panic and drop the shields. Azarov smiled grimly - as if his War Wizards would panic.

For the next few minutes the british kept their fire up, he could see the impacts of the guns on his shields. They probably were frantic now, torn between coming closer and use magic, or hide away and pray for someone to save them. No luck, their floos were down, and apparition was impossible from Hogwarts, they knew that from the last Triwizard Tournament. He glanced at his curse breakers. They were ignoring the whole battle and focusing on their task, like the well-trained men they were. Just a few more minutes, and the wards would be down.

Suddenly the shield cluster to his left was destroyed in a fireball. Azarov stared, frozen for a second. How was that possible? A full shield cluster, gone like that? What spell could… another flash, and another shield cluster was gone, replaced by burning wizards, some of them still alive. That had come from above them. He looked up and saw a redheaded man in green muggle clothes, on a broom, far above them, out of range of his spells, aiming a tube at them. Was that a cannon? Then he realized what cluster the broom flyer was aiming at, and his eyes widened with fear.

"Retreat! Retreat!" he bellowed while running towards the rear. It would doom most of his forces, but a few might survive. Fortunately his men reacted as trained, despite the suicidal nature of his command, and the ones in the back ranks dropped their shields, starting to run as well while the first rank stood their ground. He would have stayed himself, but he had to inform the rest about this weapon that could defeat shield clusters. The forest and the end of the anti-apparition wards was just there!

Then the enemy weapon struck the cluster shielding the curse breakers, and the Wardleech. The artifact released all the power it had drained in one destructive wave of pure magic, disrupting the shields still maintained, and throwing wizards around like ragdolls. Azarov was struck down before he could apparate away, stunned, and didn't regain consciousness again until he had bled out from a bullet wound taken while fleeing.

* * *

Ron was panting and shivering, dangling from his broom from one hand. Whatever that explosion had been had almost thrown him off his broom. It had been much worse than playing Quidditch in a stormfront - he had done that once, drunk, on a dare. His AT4 was gone, but it was disposable anyway. No big loss there, and he had two more in his enchanted pack. He pulled himself up on his broom, telling himself it was just like PT, and flew back to the ramparts. by the time he reached them, no one could tell how shaken he was. A year ago he would have lapped up the attention, the awe the guards showed while staring at him, as if he was Harry Potter himself, come to smite down the enemy, but now he felt like cursing - they were wasting time!

"I want two of you to check for survivors, the rest check how for enemies on the rest of the perimeter. Move!" He shouted, and they almost fell over themselves while obeying. Ron himself rose up a few hundred meters and pulled out his night vision gear to check from above for enemies. The battle wasn't over yet.

* * *

Marius Krum felt like vomiting, staring at the remains of what had been a family of four just a minute ago, before one of the Hungarians had stopped their flight from Hogsmeade with a Bombarda. This wasn't what he.. this wasn't… They had been ordered to cut off escape routes, but… that meant enemy wizards, not children… didn't it? At least it had only been one family that had fled in his group's direction. The other families probably had been smart enough not to flee. An explosion from the village made him turn his head, and stare at the pillar of smoke rising into the night sky, now illuminated by a growing fire, and he felt a shiver run down his spine, and settle as a cold lump in his stomach when he realized that the village was not safer at all for anyone there. He didn't want to be here!

His thoughts were interrupted by a series of loud cracks, and he saw the men next to him fall, bleeding and screaming. A protego cast almost instinctually saved him - or so he assumed. Then he saw another fall down, the shield bubble around him disappearing. That was too much. He tried to apparate away, but failed - the wards were still up. He was in the process of pulling out his shrunken broom, his mind set on fleeing any way possible, when he felt a blow in his stomach, and found himself falling. Pain filled him, his insides felt as if on fire, and he couldn't stand up no matter how hard he tried.

He was clawing at the earth, trying to drag himself away from the place, when he found himself staring at the corpse of the youngest child of the dead family, and froze. Around him the british who had ambushed him were finishing off the wounded, none of them giving any quarter to people who had just killed fleeing children. Marius Krum didn't notice that. He was still staring at the dead child when a bullet ended his life.

* * *

Marcel Malfoy was grinning widely, caught in the rush of battle. He and his men, all trained duellers, had just taken Knockturn Alley, and were storming into Diagon Alley. In front of him, mudbloods or blood traitors were fleeing for their lives, not knowing they had no way to escape. Apparition wards were up, floos were out, and the Leaky Cauldron would be blocked. It was glorious! He casually downed a young boy coming out of a side alley of Knockturn Alley with a cutting curse while shielding a stunner from a shopkeeper at the corner.

Then they were out in the open, in Diagon Alley. The british shopping mile. The heart of their commerce. Up ahead Gringotts would be sealing up, the beasts would not want to take part in this battle. But all around him were mudbloods and blood traitors, just begging to be punished for their crimes! He laughed, seeing them flee inside shops, cowering in fear. It would not save them!

One of his men took a step towards the closest shop, ready to blow the door away, when he suddenly toppled over, bleeding. Then another fell. And another. Marcel hastily retreated into Knockturn Alley, dodging a curse thrown from the shop keeper he had thought was huddling in fear. What was happening?

"Rally men! Don't go off alone!" he shouted, and his remaining men - more than enough still to wipe out all the mudblood rabble infesting the heart of Wizarding Britain - complied. He sent two Romanians ahead, under shields. They were expendable, unlike his french wizards.

A wise decision, the two were dead a few steps into Diagon Alley. Someone must have banished shards of metal at them, somehow bypassing their shield. No, overpowering it! They were just Romanians, not French, but still… He sent two more - at wand point, though, the cowards hesitated! - out under a disillusion charm. Those made it farther into the alley, then someone must have revealed them, and they died at once.

"We'll all go out disillusioned, half of us go up the roofs, the rest through the alley. Once we're halfway up the alley, start to cast fiendfyre at the houses!" No matter the mudblood trickery - hiding in houses, and ambushing wizards? Cowards! - tonight Diagon Alley would burn! Even if he had to sacrifice all the foreigners under his command!

* * *

The british Ministry of Magic was filled with screams, spells, and the sounds of fighting. The attack and sabotage had come as a surprise, and the alerts coming from Hogsmeade, Hogwarts and Diagon Alley had only made the chaos worse. The staff still present had quickly realized they were on their own - floos were down, and anti-apparition wards had been erected.

Harry Potter was thanking whatever higher power was listening that he had been with Hermione when the attack had started, if he had to decide whether to save, err, link forces with her, and directing the defense… As it was, the two of them, Dean and Roberts, and Hermione's secretary formed the core of the defense of the minister's floor, rallying the other workers who had stayed late. A few sealing spells had bought them time enough to organize and plan, though the doors would not hold forever. At least the traps in the elevator had claimed a few attackers - fools.

"The Department of Mysteries will be sealed off. They won't get in there." Hermione, brushing a stray lock of hair that had escaped her pony tail, off her face, stated with conviction. She had personally overseen the security there, after realizing just how dangerous some of the research there was.

"The lower staff floors are probably gone. Too few workers left there, no guards." Harry continued. "The DMLE is holding out, according to the patronuses we got, but they are under pressure. Relief is not expected for some time. This is not a raid, this is an invasion."

Dean and Robert nodded. Dean's face was grim, Robert looked almost eager.

"They'll be focusing on the door. We'll hit them from behind." Harry smiled. He didn't feel like smiling - even if this made him feel as if it was him, Hermione and Ron again, three students against the world, betting their lives on an improvised plan and sheer stubbornness, talent and luck - but it would help morale.

"How?" Robert Smith didn't quite sound sceptical, but Harry knew the man had some reservation. He hadn't fought with them in the Blood War, and had only joined up after the revolution. He was experienced, and skilled, but hadn't seen Harry and Hermione "really cut loose" as the saying went.

Hermione grinned, and explained: "Harry will shrink us down. escape the floor through the air ducts, then attack the invaders from the flank or behind - after undoing the shrinking. She didn't mention that the air ducts were warded against intruders using such a method the day after she had thought of that, even though by her calculations one needed Harry's power to shrink a human-sized target down to mouse size.

"Trust me, she knows what we are doing." Harry smiled again, even more when Hermione elbowed him, whispering "Behave!" The short exchange did serve to lift their comrades' spirits, at least.

* * *

Marie d'Orléans had even more trouble maintaining her calm and polite facade. The group had gone into the Leaky Cauldron on schedule, but just as she had been about to follow them, one of them had been blown out the door. Anti-mugle wards had kept the muggles on the street from noticing, but Marie had seen some green-clad men drag the corpse back inside, then fix the door with a quick reparo. Suddenly she felt glad her father had been so protective. She only hoped the attack on Diagon Alley was doing better.

* * *

Francois Maladier felt like screaming. The curse breakers with him were still trying to break into the floor housing the minister's office. That mudblood must have had layered defenses like an egyptian tomb! "Double your efforts! The honor of France is at stake!" They would avenge the death of the dauphin!

"The Russians are still busy at the DMLE offices instead of helping us." one of his subordinates muttered.

"They are Russians, they'll drown the enemy in their blood if they need it to win. We are French! We will beat those british mudbloods without sacrificing half our forces." He turned around, frowning. "Rear guard! Keep your attention to the rear!" That was the problem with a force full of elan, full of courage - they were focused on advancing, not watching their rear. He shook his head, almost fondly. He still would not take any other wizards over his own.

A yell from the rear guard he just had admonished made him turn in time to see two metal eggs fly around the corner, and then detonate among the men of the rear guard, turning fine French wizards into screaming and bleeding masses of flesh.

"Men, to me!" he yelled, casting a shield. His men - the best of his force - were already reacting, shields popping up and conjured animals appearing. Whatever had snuck around to attack them in their rear - probably past some foolish, mulish russians - would not live long!

Then the entire wall that guarded his left flank was blasted apart, stone shards hitting a few unlucky wizards while the sheer force of the impact sent half his remaining wizards to the ground. Dust rose up, obscuring his vision while he reoriented himself, and then two persons stepped through the cloud of dust.

The French were accomplished duellers, and had combat experience from battling barbary coast enclave wizards and slaving raiders preying on the veela colonies. And yet neither their skill nor their experience seemed to be of any use as they were slaughtered where they stood. Maladier couldn't believe his eyes as he saw a Severing Charm cut three men in half to his right - a single Diffindo! On the other side, one, then another of his men were suddenly turning their wands on their own side - with lethal spells. Filled with anger he fired a blasting curse at the pair, only to have it be banished back at his men with a wave of a wand. The dust cloud started to settle then, despite a few more blasting curses thrown around, all blocked by one of the strongest Protegos he had ever seen, and he recognized the two - the Boy-who-lived, and the Mudblood Minister.

Half of his remaining men were fighting the other half by then, a result, he realized, of the mudblood's spellcasting - he could see her wand moving, but couldn't hear any incantations, nor see any visible spells. At the same time, the boy-who-lived blasted the curse breakers into the door they had been trying to open, smashing most of them to pulp despite the shields they had up. And then he turned his wand on Maladier himself. The French commander had just time to see eyes the color of the killing curse blaze at him, then he felt himself be thrown off his feet, and into the closest wall while his wand was ripped out of his hand. A Disarming Charm! A simple Disarming Charm! He had still trouble to believe what he had seen when he fell unconscious.

* * *

Harry glanced over the fallen French. A few quick bone breakers made sure none of the ones still alive would be a threat without attention from a healer. Hermione was sending the survivors of those she had "turned" against the enemy forces still assaulting the DMLE offices. Even if it did not sow distrust into the enemy ranks they would make good cannon fodder. Mental manipulation spells were Hermione's speciality. For a witch who had replaced her parents' memories with fabricated ones at the age of 17, turning an enemy into an ally was child's play - and, as she was fond to point out, much less wasteful than simply overpowering them. Not that she was serious - Harry had the power to spare, with the Elder Wand boosted his already impressive power further. Instant stone walls had taken care of the unforgivables sent at them, and vastly overpowered cutting curses had taken care of the casters of the unforgivables.

Dean and Robert had taken out a few stragglers on their floor, and joined Harry and Hermione and their recently turned unwitting allies when they fell on the Russian rearguard. They were more stubborn than the French, but less skilled, and seemed as vulnerable to Hermione's spells, if less shaken by Harry's power. Nevertheless, they were beaten in a minute, but took five more to finally admit defeat - most of them by being dead. Good shields, though - five of them had closed ranks and combined their shield spells somehow, and the result had withstood even Harry's blasting curses for a time. Hermione was likely already trying to find out how that had been achieved.

With the two main parts of the enemy forces inside the atrium destroyed, the remaining french and russian wizards inside the ministry, most of them in the atrium, were doomed. A number of the French surrendered, but the Russians fought on and died to a man, even when it was clear they had no hope to survive, much less win against the british forces. Hermione was working on restoring the floo network, finding out where the enemies had come in from at the same time, while Harry was organizing the remaining wizards and witches in the Ministry before taking down the anti-apparition wards the enemy had put up. From what a number of messenger patronuses had stated, Hogwarts was safe, Hogsmeade in the process of being cleared, but Diagon Alley was burning, with the invading forces pushed back into Knockturn Alley while a major part of the defenders were holding Fiendfyre at bay.

Harry's eyes sought Hermione's. He didn't like leaving her here, but thanks to his personal power and the Elder Wand, he could deal with Fiendfyre far better than a dozen of other wizards. More quickly too. She nodded at him, and he turned away, picking half a dozen DMLE officers, leaving Robert and Deal to guard Hermione.

* * *

Marie d'Orléans was all but running away. Only the knowledge that actually running would draw attention, lethal attention, kept her at a brisk walk. She had still been observing the Leaky Cauldron when she had spotted the boy-who-lived himself walking towards it. He was followed by six witches and wizards, but Marie had only eyes for the man. His eyes had been blazing with fury, his expression promised death for anyone he caught - or so she felt - and the power, Merlin, the power! There had been a rippling aura around him that sent shivers down her spine and made her want to blindly flee. Suddenly all the tales about him didn't seem to be overblown anymore. Marie had turned around and walked away at once - she knew, no matter what had happened so far in Diagon Alley, the battle would be lost. She could only hope the other forces had fared better.


	15. Chapter 15: Aftermath

**Chapter 15: Aftermath**

When Harry returned to the ministry the sun was starting to rise. He was unharmed, but strongly smelled of smoke, and worse, and looked tired if not exhausted. Hermione didn't look that much better, but for the lack of soot. She hugged him, relieved he was back, and then handed him a pepper-up potion, for once without a cautionary remark about overdosing. He needed it.

Harry chugged it, and still fell into more than sat down in his customary seat in Hermione's office. "We put out the last fiendfyre an hour ago, and didn't spot any other fire. We trapped most of the attackers in Knockturn Alley, but about dozen got away on brooms when we stormed the place. We couldn't stop all of them, too many of us were tied up dealing with the fire, or still fighting on the ground." There was no pride or frustration in his voice, just tired acceptance - he had done what he could.

Hermione nodded. They'd use a pensieve and get the number and hopefully description of the attackers that had escaped. The wizards could easily alter their appearance, but some of the purebloods might not think of that. "We found the missing staff when we swept the building for Attackers who were hiding themselves. Miller hid with her secretary under her desk. The rest was dead when we found them." She shuffled a few papers, and didn't comment on how the people had died.

"How did they get in?" Harry would have leaned forward, eager to hear the answer, but he felt still too tired to move unless needed. He was closer to magical exhaustion than he had ever been since Hogwarts.

"The Unspeakables are still investigating, but we found Henry Aberty in the floo control room, dead. Preliminary results show he died from breaking a magical oath." Hermione explained. "I agree with that."

"How did he make it past the floo security if he was breaking his oath?" Harry had thought the checks for spells like the imperius were unbeatable, and an oath breaker shouldn't have been able to enter even.

"That's the big question. We're checking for traces of potions too. The invaders came from his home, through a few additional floos too, but his family had already been stunned and obliviated when our troops reached their home." Hermione was frustrated - though more at the lack of insight into this puzzle than the fact that more enemies had escaped. That, and her pride was wounded, she had personally checked the security system they had set up. To be outthought by a pureblood… it vexed her.

This time Harry did lean forward, and patted her arm. "Don't worry, you'll find out how they did it. We did take prisoners, after all."

"Yes we did. Here, at least. Hogwarts though… the castle itself was not damaged, the wards held, but the main force of the attackers was killed to a man, the rest escaped."

Harry was surprised. "No prisoners taken?" He could understand such a thing if they had entered the castle and attacked children, but with the wards holding…

Hermione sighed. "From what I gathered from the first reports, the attackers were hiding behind strong shields - similar to the one the russians used here I think - that withstood machine gun fire. So the officer in command of our forces there used 'portable anti-tank weapons to breach the shields while the machine gunners kept up suppressive fire'. When the shields fell, the gunfire killed the attackers that survived 'a strange secondary explosion, possibly of magical origin'." Hermione frowned when quoting what was either a written report, or notes from an orla one.

Harry blinked. "Where did we get anti-tank weapons? And why? Who was the officer in charge?"

Hermione signed. "Ron was visiting Charlie, who is settling there with Norberta. Apparently, he has not only taken to explosives, but also started carrying any weapon he can get his hands on in his bottomless pocket."

Harry laughed. "At least he doesn't carry his flying tank around with him. Sorry, his 'flying Armored Personnel Carrier." He stopped laughing when he saw Hermione wincing. "What?"

"He requested a way to shrink his APC so he can carry it with him and apparate with it." Hermione's voice was drier than a desert. "Went through all the proper channels too, with all the proper paperwork."

Harry very carefully didn't laugh, but felt better. "Is that possible?"

"I don't see why not - just requires a lot of power. I can think of only three people who could do it with the standard spell, and two of them are dead." Hermione carefully didn't smirk while Harry connected the dots.

"Merlin! I'll have to shrink it for him?"

"And re-shrink it whenever it was used." Hermione grinned. "To be fair, it is a valid idea, and would allow us to deploy the thing much faster."

Harry groaned. "And how long do you think it'll be until he demands I shrink a Main Battle Tank?"

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "That depends on how well our "Special Recruiting Mission" goes. If it works well we can expand past the SAS and similar infantry forces into heavier weapons."

"I still can't believe you came up with it. Doesn't the irony of it strike you?"

"It's all strictly voluntarily, Harry. No one is forced into it." Hermione answered, all prim and proper, then grinned. "And yes, I find the irony deliciously funny."

Harry shrugged. "So… we covered Hogwarts. How did Hogsmeade fare?"

Hermione grew serious at once. "Unfortunately not that well. Hogsmeade was wide open for an attack, not many buildings had wards that could stand up to a determined attack, and the invaders blocked apparition and portkeys right away, so our troops were busy evacuating the civilians at first - with only partial success. At least that backfired on the attackers, when Ron and the rest from Hogwarts arrived those busy killing civilians and starting fires were unable to flee."

"Didn't they have brooms?"

"They did. But the area was wide open, no cover, and half of Ron's forces arrived with brooms. A number still escaped, but most got killed. The french tried to fight in the streets, the others mostly holed up in some of the surviving houses and they had to 'dig them out', as Ron called it. As I understood, that was literally the case for at least two groups where they simply collapsed the buildings on top of them."

Harry didn't ask about prisoners there. Hermione's flat tone told him enough. There was a time he would have been appalled at such events, but nowadays he only regretted the loss of information prisoners could have given. Still… "We need to reign them in. If only to get better information."

"Yes. I told Ron so already. What about Diagon Alley?"

"Most of it still stands. Half a dozen houses burned down, but most civilians escaped." Harry answered. Most, not all. He didn't want to think of the clothes shop he had seen, full of dead people inside - victims of a bombarda, if his brief impression was correct. Children among them. "Knockturn Alley, on the other hand… mostly destroyed. Many civilian victims too - they were unable to or unwilling to escape." And probably didn't trust the ministry forces not to kill them on sight. Aurors had not really been gentle or careful in the past when dealing with that corner of Wizarding Britain and its denizens. Hermione had tried to change the attitude, but muggleborns were not the only ones with long memories.

"How many did we lose?"

"Too many." Truth to be told, they had gotten off lightly given the attackers' numbers and the surprise they had achieved, but Harry had known most of those fallen in the ministry or when they retook Diagon Alley.

"Anything else we'll have to cover in our meeting with the Prime Minister?"

"Nothing I can think of right now."

The pepper-up potions they had taken were still working, so a nap was out of the question even of there were not dozens of reports to read, and decisions to make. Even so, Hermione locked the door with a flick of her wand and sat in Harry's lap, both hugging each other for a little while. It wasn't much, but they needed it.

* * *

The prime minister had been informed about the attacks in the night, but had not received independent reports of the events until mid-morning. So far they confirmed the official reports from the ministry of magic, but he was a firm believer in truth being the first casualty of war, and so did not fully trust either reports. At least no one had targeted him this time. Given the numbers of attackers, he didn't think he would have survived.

The wizarding press - if one could call those magical papers on his desk that - was in an uproar, the Daily Prophet's editorial screaming for vengeance and an immediate invasion of Paris, followed by pages upon pages of "war reports", mostly pictures of burning houses and tales of death and destruction. The Quibbler had similar pictures, but less sensational reports of the attacks, but made up for it with rampant speculations about the monsters and spells that had allowed the invaders to invade. Apparently, the invaders had been air dropped by heliopaths, or had traveled in the belly of a giant mole. He wondered briefly how long it would be until someone institutionalized this "Luna Lovegood", then shelved the thought - for a pureblood she seemed not too eccentric, at least as far as he could tell, and he still suspected the whole magazine was satirical in nature.

His secretary informed him that "his 9 O'clock appointment had arrived", and he put the more secret reports away. To have the magicals not entering his office whenever they pleased, but actually asking for an appointment, was a great relief in his opinion. He carefully schooled his features before the pair entered, and looked them over. Both looked quite fresh, far fresher than people who had spent most of the night fighting for their lives and then organising a country under attack had a right to, and he felt envious of magic again. "Please, have a seat. We've got much to discuss."

* * *

Marie d'Orléans felt like casting a few unforgivables. The nerve of those british swine! The lies in their rags that they called newspapers! She was grateful she didn't have to conceal her anger and outrage while reading - all the wizards around her in the Leaky Cauldron were full of rage themselves, and unlikely to notice she was outraged at the newspapers, not the events depicted. To claim that the french forces were criminals, plundering houses and murdering children! It made her blood boil. As if the flower of Magical France would stoop to such despicable acts! While around her the british wizards were whipping themselves into a frenzy, and several storming off to "Join up" - whatever that meant - Marie suddenly grinned with glee. There, in an article detailing the attack on Hogwarts - repelled without british losses? Were the Russians even more incompetent than she had thought? - she read about the british leader there: Ronald Weasley, on a break from his duties protecting british airspace from French fliers. According to the newspaper he was personally responsible for the defeat of the entire french broom corps. She had name for the murderer of her dear Susanne, at last! Then she sobered up. Ronald Weasley… she knew the name. The best friend of the boy-who-lived and the lover of the Mudblood Minister. Or the lover of both - the magazines were a bit unclear on their exact relationship, they only agreed that it was scandalous. He wouldn't be easy to kill. But she was the daughter of the Duc d'Orléans, she'd overcome whatever the british mudbloods had thought of, and get her revenge.

She forced herself to smile at the waitress - who was dressed in a piece of fabric one would not even store potatoes in in Paris - paid her tea and left the Leaky Cauldron. She needed a coffee, and it seemed the only acceptable coffee in London was made by muggles. A good thing too - currently she felt safer among muggles than among wizards.

* * *

Sergeant Arthur "Artie" Wilkinson was gaping. It was not possible, he must have misunderstood this officer. "What?" Belatedly he added "Sir." The man took his reaction in stride. "You understood me correctly, Sergeant. In order to undertake this dangerous and top secret mission you volunteered for, you will have to marry. You will be divorced after a few hours, and Her Majesty's Government guarantees there will be no financial consequences from this marriage, but the wedding must take place. You also will not, ah, consummate the marriage. It is a purely formal requirement."

It was official now - the brass had gone over the edge. Artie was sure of that. They had pulled him out of the regiment - with half his mates - for a sham marriage? He was about to protest again when the officer cut him off.

"I assure you, this is no joke, but a crucial requirement for a mission of utmost importance. Once you will be briefed - after the wedding - you'll understand, I assure you." He did sound dead serious. Artie shook his head, but managed to answer "Yes, Sir. I understand Sir. When and where will the wedding happen?"

"In the room next to us, and at once." The man knocked on the door, and then waved Artie through. The still bewildered sergeant found himself in a small room, with a desk, a chair behind it, and two in front of it. Through another door a man entered in a suit, followed by a young woman wearing a rather conservative dress. Both smiled at him.

"Sergeant Wilkinson? Here's your paperwork, please sign on the dotted lines so we can proceed. Artie did as he was told to, and a glance to his side showed him the woman did the same.

The man collected the papers, and a short lecture later Artie found himself married to a "Sally-Anne Perks". She didn't sound nor look like a foreigner who may need a marriage of convenience to stay in Britain. Pretty, but barely out of her teens. No one told him to kiss the bride, though. Instead he was told to pose for a picture "for the paperwork", then ordered into a briefing room, where he found his missing mates from the regiment. Most looked as bewildered as he felt, one was rubbing his cheek, where the faint outline of a handprint could be made out. What conversations he could follow all recounted the same weird marriage ceremony he had gone through. There were even a few officers among them!

Then another officer - a colonel - entered and the men inside the room jumped to their feet at attention while one officer announced the room ready for the briefing. His new wife had followed the Colonel and stood at his side, smiling.

"Good morning. You all are wondering why you had to marry a girl you did not even know. The answer lies in an old law that restricts the information you will receive now to the spouses of certain persons. In short, gentlemen, Magic exists, and or country is currently at war with several magical nations. The mission you volunteered for is to fight against witches and wizards, together with british witches and wizards."

The room exploded at that, but whatever angry comments the men were shouting were silenced when the new - and temporary - Misses Wilkinson waved a stick and suddenly, a row of desks turned into an elephant.

After a few more, if not as spectacular demonstrations of magic, Artie was convinced that the brass had not gone crazy - at least not more than usual. But even an experienced soldier - one of Britain's best - such as him was still shocked by the revelation that he'd start training in "magical warfare" immediately after his divorce. The worst though was that he was not allowed to tell this story to anyone who didn't already know about magic - the free drinks he'd miss out due to this...

* * *

Ron took a look at the row of young wizards and witches waiting for him, most looked quite unused to the fatigues they were wearing. Had he looked as lost as they did, back when he had started his own training? He hoped not. Purebloods, all of them. If not for the oaths everyone had to take that would be a security concern. There was Ginny, fidgeting next to Neville. Both had volunteered after the invasion, though Neville with the full support of Augusta, who had not taken well to "french and russian scum invading british soil" while Ginny probably still had not told their mum she was now a soldier. He felt like wincing - telling mum that her only daughter was now fighting in a war would not go over well for anyone involved. Hopefully he was off fighting in France when that happened, he might not hear the screaming then. But he had a job to do.

Coughing, he drew the attention of the wizards and witches to him. "Greetings, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the British Magical Armed Forces. I am Ron Weasley, and since the French are still licking their wounds, I've got time to introduce you to life in the army." A few smiled - he was pretty well known, after all.

"Now, many of you were members of the D.A." He didn't call it Dumbledore's Army anymore. Dumbledore didn't deserve the honor, and now that he knew what an army was, a bunch of kids didn't deserve to call themselves an army. He spotted a number, among them Ginny and Neville, straighten up. "Now, for those who were in the D.A., I've got bad news: We're doing things differently here. A lot." That caused some surprised gasps, and some chatter, which he cut off with a sharp "Be silent and listen!"

"I know you think your task will be taking out French and Russian Invaders with powerful spells. Stunners, disarming spells, bone breakers and reductos. Am I right?" A few muttered agreements, the smarter ones looked confused. "You're wrong. Your main task in a fight, whether on the ground or on a broom, will be to find the enemies when they are hiding behind disillusion charms or under invisibility cloaks, to remove muggle-repelling charms and other spells they might have on them, and then point them out to your muggle mates, who will be killing them. For those who do not join the broom riders you will also side-apparate your squadmates and create portkeys." Most of them would join the broom riding corps though. He had been told for broom riders it was like cavalry in the old times - with a few exceptions, one had to grow up riding to be a good cavalryman or broom rider.

Now, many of you will be asking themselves how muggles will be killing wizards, even without their charms. Let me show you what we call the 'L110A2', the standard light machine gun of the british army. I've set up a few targets over there." Ron smiled openly - he loved firing the Minimi, and the faces on the wizards and witches with him after they saw what the weapon did to his conjured target dummies… priceless. He couldn't wait to swap stories later with his mates who got to see the muggle soldiers introduced to magic.

As expected the bunch of purebloods jerked and some even screamed when he shredded the dummies with his machine gun. Not telling them the weapon was enchanted to be easier to control felt a bit like cheating - but then, he was a Weasley, pranking was in his blood, and if you didn't cheat in war, you were not trying.

He turned back to the group of gaping volunteers. "Now that you've seen how we will kill our enemies it's time for your training in how not to get killed in war to start." Fortunately, others would take over that training. Ron was mainly here to show them that even a pureblood like him who was pretty much clueless about muggles could become an expert in muggle weapons. Again, not exactly true, but as long as it served to help morale, all was ok in his opinion. Now if only Harry would solve the problem with shrinking an APC and keeping it in stasis so it would still work no matter how long it went without maintenance...

* * *

Antoine Malfoy was trembling with rage. La Grande Invasion, foiled like this? The best of France, lost? His own blood, dead in some british alley like a common thug? It was impossible! He had seen the plans, had seen the forces, knew they had achieved surprise as well. How could they have been defeated? By mudbloods?

He crumpled the Daily Prophet up and banished it into a waste bin, then set it on fire, enjoying how the figures on the pictures unsuccessfully tried to flee. If only those were the real mudbloods burning there.

But more was at stake than finding the reason for the defeat of the forces of France. He had been subtle, but everyone who mattered knew that he was the power behind the invasion - well, one of them. His rivals would be looking for a scapegoat for this defeat, and the lost leaders of the french forces would not suffice. When the masses wanted blood, they wanted to see and smell the blood, and no one dead or caught in Britain could satisfy that.

Malfoy was no fool, he knew he was not popular, unlike the Duc. Merlin, the Duc! Malfoy stared at the latest report from his informant in the ministry's auror branch. The Duc's daughter was missing? The Duc would be looking for blood too. What to do, what to do… Treason! The defeat had to be the result of treason, there had to be a traitor in the highest rank!

Malfoy snarled. There was but one french pureblood family that had close ties to the enemy, the Delacours. Their eldest daughter had married a british blood traitor, after all. Yes, he saw it now, their resistance against the war efforts, their cautionary advice… they had not just betrayed their blood, but their country too.

He stood up and started to pace, making plans to ensure they would not be able to escape. The Delacours would pay for their treachery, and for the defeat of France.


End file.
